He lighted a cigarette, and she lighted another, still with a happy air.
"How do you know that?" he asked.
"I feel it."
With a little laugh, she reminded him of his saying about women.
"You are wrong. I am going to do it," he said.
"But—do you really think it an impertinence?"
He was beset by his sensitive dislike to mix in other people's affairs, but almost angrily he overcame it.
"I don't know. You may. Mrs. Chepstow, you were raving just now about the delights of the English winter—"
"Shut out!" she interpolated.
"Then why should you avoid them?"