“You have been thinking?” Maine went on.
“Yes. What a sad occupation that is sometimes—like knitting, or listening to church-bells at night!”
“Eve, let us be serious.”
“God knows I am,” she answered. “But modern gravity is dressed in flippancy. No feeling must go quite naked.”
“Don't talk like that,” he said. “As there is a nudity in art that may be beautiful, so there is a nudity in expression, in words, that may be beautiful. Eve, I have come to hear you tell me something. You know that.” He glanced into her face with an anxiety that she did not fully understand. Then he said: “Tell it me.”
“There is—is so much to tell,” she said.
“Yes, yes.”
“He does not understand,” she thought.
He thought, “She does not understand.”