“You are coming often to enjoy your handiwork?”
He had made an impulsive gesture.
“I'm not coming. I've been seeing too much of you as it is. If you want the truth, I'm just wretchedly unhappy, Natalie. You know I'm in love with you, don't you?”
“I believe you think you are.”
“Don't laugh.” He almost snarled. “I may laugh at my idiocy, but you haven't any right to. I know I'm ridiculous. I've known it for months. But it's pretty serious for me.”
He had meant it. There could be no doubt of that. It is the curious quality of very selfish women that they inspire a certain sort of love. They are likely to be loved often, even tho the devotion they inspire is neither deep nor lasting. Big and single-hearted women are loved by one man, and that forever.
Natalie had not laughed, but she had done what was almost as bad. She had patted him on the arm.
“Don't talk like that,” she said, gently. “You are all I have now, Rodney, and I don't want to lose you. I'm suffering horribly these days. You're my greatest comfort.”
“I've heard you say that of a chair.”
“As for loving me, you must not talk like that. Under the circumstances, it's indelicate.”