The woman's smile was enigmatic as she left him.
CHAPTER XII
"Are you heartless?" he continued; "have you no pity for me?"
It was the next evening. They were sitting among the basket chairs and the dinner dresses in the garden, and there was no one inconveniently near. Lady Bletchworth had gone inside a few minutes before. A warm breeze bore strains of Chopin to them from the Kursaal; the little fountain plashed languidly, and a full moon had been assisting Conrad to deceive himself.
"I am not heartless," returned Mrs. Adaile, "I am sensible. And—there are a thousand reasons."
"For one thing?"
"For one thing.... I don't want romance—I want comedy. I want to laugh with you, my dear Con, not to be serious."
This was difficult to answer, for he could not offer to laugh at his grand passion. He sighed.
"Besides," she went on, "I couldn't make you happy. It isn't in my power—you don't really care for me. You are in love with a memory, not with me. I'm no longer the woman you fell in love with. I've changed. Really I didn't know how much I had changed till you came here, I must like you very much to want to talk to you—because you make me feel elderly, you do indeed."