"Shall you have to see very much of them?" She had made up her mind that she would see very little, or nothing, of the Hannays.
"Well, I haven't, lately, have I?" said he, and she owned that he had not.
"How you ever could—" she began, but he stopped her.
"Oh well, we needn't go into that."
It seemed to her that there was something dark and undesirable behind those words, something into which she could well conceive he would not wish to go. It never struck her that he merely wished to put an end to the discussion.
She brooded over it, and became dejected. The great tide of her trouble had long ago ebbed out of her sight. Now it was as if it had turned, somewhere on the edge of the invisible, and was creeping back again. She wished she had never seen or heard of the Hannays—detestable people.
She betrayed something of this feeling to Edith, who was impatient for an account of the evening. (It was thus that Edith entered vicariously into life.)
"Did you expect me to enjoy it?" she replied to the first eager question.
"No, I don't know that I did. I should have enjoyed it very much indeed."
"I don't believe you."