"How do you know what I want?"
"You want somebody much nicer than I am."
He was silent, looking at her as he had looked at Barbara, enjoying her absurdity, letting her play, like the child she was, with her preposterous idea.
"Oh, Robert, you do really think I'm nice?" She came nearer to him, crying out like a child in pain. He put his arm round her, and comforted her as best he could.
"You child, do you suppose I'd marry you if I didn't think you nice?"
"You might. You mightn't care."
"As it happens, I do care, very much. Anyhow, I wouldn't ask you to be a mother to my children if I didn't think you nice. That's the test."
"Yes, Robert," she repeated, "that's the test."
They rose and went back to the hotel. From the lawn they could see the open window of the children's room. They looked up.
"Would you like to see them, Kitty?"