“I don’t know. I suppose she’s still in New York. She was very talented.”
“She planned to come to Paris some day. If she does, it would be a nice thing to do to look her up.”
Her husband smiled before he answered her, a quiet amused smile such as he used to display when he caught his mother in some intricate feminine plot.
“I don’t see why we should. She probably wouldn’t like it. After all, it wouldn’t be the same, would it?”
From this she could make nothing. All that he had said might mean anything at all. It seemed to her that the more she talked, the more confusing, the less clear everything became.
“I simply happened to think of her. She’s a remarkable girl. She’s had a struggle from the beginning.”
“A damned fine lot,” was his comment. “You’ll hear from her some day.”
She must have understood that all her slyness was of no use, that methods such as this brought her nowhere, for she fell silent after this until Dick rose and said, “Shall we go up? My nerves are on edge from playing all afternoon. I think I’ll sleep a bit.”
Then while she watched him, as from a great distance, it occurred to her that all this was scarcely the behavior of a bridegroom on his honeymoon; it was, on the contrary, as if already they had been married for years.
As she rose to go with him, a sudden decision crossed her mind. Without thinking why she was employing it, she used the one stake which she had at hand.