“And so was I,” he replied, “when I preferred to sit here like a log, rather than face the prying sympathy of my fellow-humans.”
“Oh!” said Trix softly, a light of illumination breaking in upon her. “But, Mr. Danver, sympathy isn’t always prying.”
“Bah!” he retorted. “Prying or not, I didn’t want it. Staring eyes, condoling words, and mockery in their hearts! ‘He got what he deserved for his madness,’ they’d have said.”
Trix leant forward, putting her hands on the table.
“Mr. Danver,” she said thoughtfully, “if you were a younger man, or I were an older woman, I’d say you were—well, quite remarkably foolish.”
Nicholas chuckled. He liked this.
“You might forget our respective ages for a few moments,” he suggested, “that is, if you have anything enlivening to say.”
“I don’t know about it being enlivening,” remarked Trix calmly, “but I have got quite a good deal to say.”
“Say it then,” chuckled Nicholas.
Trix drew a deep breath.