She laughed, laughed quite out with a completeness which had something almost of youth in it.
“I wonder,” he added rather ruefully, after the pause which the laugh had filled up, “I wonder whether I am one of them?”
“I don’t think you are.”
“And Ambrose Jennings?”
“That’s a clever man!” was her reply.
And then she changed the conversation to criticism in general, and to the type of clever mind which, unable to create, analyses the creations of others sensitively.
“But I much prefer the creators,” she presently said.
“So do I. They are like the fresh air compared with the air in a carefully closed room,” said Craven. “Talking of closed rooms, don’t you think it is strange the liking many brilliant men and women have, both creators and analysers of creators, for the atmosphere of garish or sordid cafes?”
“You are thinking of the Cafe Royal?”
“Yes. Do you know it?”