“Yes. And so, you see, you’ve always got a feeling that he’s keeping something back in himself, something rather important, if you see what I mean, something you can’t get a grip on but that’s there to be gripped, that Napier would like to be gripped, if you see what I mean——”
“I’ll tell you what I see, Venice. I’ve seen it before, and so I recognise it——”
“But I don’t want to hear about your fancy friends! I want to talk about myself.”
“The matter is, Venice, that any woman in love with a reserved man will pass her spare time in ascribing stormy villainies to his secret nature, whereas generally the poor devil is——”
“Stormy villainies,” said Venice quietly, “is good.”
“Women,” I said largely, cursing myself, “are always making themselves miserable about what they don’t see in a man, as though what they did see wasn’t quite enough.”
The full dry lips ravaged the cigarette for a while. Then they said thoughtfully: “The other night we were dining at Fay Avalon’s, just a very few of us, and when some one said that Mrs. Storm was a nymphomaniac Napier went as white as death——”
“And what did the other guests do, Venice? It’s the least Napier could have done, as she’s an old friend of his.”
“Of course,” said Venice very calmly, looking into her cup as though for more coffee. “I don’t know her, or anything about her, except just what people say. And I’d never have known that Naps even knew her if I hadn’t seen him speak to her that night at the Loyalty. That was the night her brother died, wasn’t it? Napier had never mentioned her name before—nor since, if it comes to that, until last night, when he seemed so upset about her that after a while I upped and said he could go and take a room at the nursing-home if he liked——”
“Wasn’t that rather harsh, Venice? After all, he’s known her a very long time, and it upsets any one to see an old friend very ill.”