Joanna drew back and was on the point of rising. Again the chair scraped.
"And then she would never condescend to listen to anything I might happen to be saying. There is a compensating freedom in being beneath notice!"
Joanna remained on her knees at the open window.
"I own I most cordially dislike the idea of telling her," Margaret continued. "I know she will be unreasonable and say things which will lead to all sorts of disputes and disagreeables between us."
"Oh! but she must know perfectly well already, only she means to make you speak first," the other returned. "It's too absurd to suppose she hasn't spotted what's been going on. Why, his state of mind has been patent for ages. She can't be off seeing."
"I don't believe for a single moment she does see. She's so frightfully self-absorbed and self-occupied. You know yourself, Marion, how extraordinarily obtuse she can be. She lives in the most hopeless state of dream—"
Joanna swayed a little as she knelt and laid hold of the folds of the striped tabaret window-curtain for support.
"I know she always has been inclined to dream; but recently it has grown upon her. For me to say anything to her about it is worse than useless. She only sits upon me, and then we 'have words,' as Isherwood says. At bottom Joanna is awfully obstinate. In many ways she reminds me very much of papa; only, being a woman, unfortunately one can't get round her as one could round him. People are beginning to notice what an odd, moody state she is in. Mrs. Norbiton said something about it when they dined here on Monday. She said Joanna seemed so absent-minded, and asked whether I thought she wasn't well. And Colonel Haig mentioned it to me the afternoon we had tea with him at the golf club. That really led to his telling me what he had heard in Paris."
"Telling you—oh, I remember! What he had heard about Mr. Savage?" Marion Chase remarked.
Joanna got on to her feet, went out on to the balcony, and hung over the red balustrade into the hot, thick darkness.