“He—he's a product—like all these young people.”
“What were you at his age, dear?”
Soames smiled grimly.
“We went to work, and didn't play about—flying and motoring, and making love.”
“Didn't you ever make love?”
She avoided looking at him while she said that, but she saw him well enough. His pale face had reddened, his eyebrows, where darkness was still mingled with the grey, had come close together.
“I had no time or inclination to philander.”
“Perhaps you had a grand passion.”
Soames looked at her intently.
“Yes—if you want to know—and much good it did me.” He moved away, along by the hot-water pipes. Fleur tiptoed silently after him.