"What do you care—as long as it isn't so?" he said, coolly.
"I don't care. Except that it weakens my authority over them.... Catharine is very impulsive, and she dearly loves a good time—and she is becoming sullen with me when I try to advise her or curb her.... And it's so with Doris, too.... I'd like to keep my influence.... But if they ever really began to believe that between you and me there was—more—than friendship, I—I don't know what they might feel free to think—or do—"
"They're older than you."
"Yes. But I seem to have the authority,—or I did have."
They looked into the leaping flames; he threw open his fur coat and seated himself on the padded arm of her chair.
"All I know is," he said, "that it gives me the deepest and most enduring happiness to do things for you. When the architect planned this house I had him design a place for you. Ultimately all the row of old houses are to be torn down and replaced by modern apartments with moderate rentals. So you will have to move anyway sooner or later. Why not come here now?"
Half unconsciously she had rested her cheek against the fur lining of his coat where it fell against his arm. He looked down at her, touched her hair—a thing he had never thought of doing before.
"Why not come here, Athalie?" he said caressingly.
"I don't know. It would be heavenly. Do you want me to, Clive?"