It was the New Yvonne. Anybody could see that. She was dressed up in dark-blue linen and she ordered crustaceans, too, on my recommendation. Then she began to talk.
"I'm going back to Pasadena on the afternoon plane," she said. "I've been talking to Rol about half the morning. I talked away a fortune. But it was worth it. I told him—everything."
"Everything?"
She nodded. Her gray eyes were gentle, inaccessible, fixed on a plane-landing a couple of thousand miles away, and night in the lamplit, lower hills of California, where the eucalyptus trees grow. She repeated the opening gambit on Long Distance:
It's me, Rol. I want to come back.... I know you want me to.... But I don't know if you will when.... Look! Think of why I went.... Don't apologize! Don't be like that! Because—Rol—me, too!
He didn't believe her.
Then he thought it was—masochistic experiment.
Don't you see, darling, that's why I was so extra frantic? So weirdly angry? I had to find that out.
"Then he was jealous!" Yvonne laughed softly—happily. "I think that was good for him."
"No doubt."