“Didn’t you think I was older?”
“I don’t know that I ever thought about it,” replied Lady Holme, with the rather careless frankness she often used towards women.
“Of course not. Why should you, or anyone? When a woman’s once over fifty it really doesn’t matter much whether she’s fifty-one or seventy-one. Does it?”
Lady Holme thought for a moment. Then she said:
“I really don’t know. You see, I’m not a man.”
Lady Cardington’s forehead puckered and her mouth drooped piteously.
“A woman’s real life is very short,” she said. “But her desire for real life can last very long—her silly, useless desire.”
“But if her looks remain?”
“They don’t.”
“You think it is a question of looks?”