“Yes.”
She laid her work down in her lap.
“I’m afraid that by nature I am a monopolist,” she said. “And as I could never descend into the arena of life to struggle to keep what I have, if others desired to take it from me, I am inclined jealously to guard it.”
She took up her work again.
“I’ve been thinking that I am rather like the dog that buries his bone,” she added, bending once more over the embroidery.
“Are you thinking of—of your husband?”
“Yes, and of Vere. I isolated myself with Maurice. Now I am isolating myself with Vere. Perhaps it is unwise, weak, this instinct to keep out the world.”
“Are you thinking of changing your mode of life, then?” he asked.
In his voice there was a sound of anxiety which she noticed.
“Perhaps. I don’t know.”