"Don't say that!"
She shrugged her pretty shoulders: "I am a woman old enough to know what the world is, and what women do in it sometimes; and what men do.... And I am this sort of woman, Clive: I can give, I can receive, too, but only because of the happiness it bestows on the giver. And when the sympathy which must exist between giver and receiver ends, then also possession ends, for me.... Why do you look at me so seriously?"
But he dared not say. And presently she went on, happily, and at random: "Of course I kept Hafiz and the first thing you ever gave me—the gun-metal wrist-watch. Here it is—" leaning across him and pulling out a drawer in her dresser. "I wear it every day when I am out. It keeps excellent time. Isn't it a darling, Clive?"
He examined it in silence, nodded, and returned it to her. And she laid it away again, saying:
"So you think of taking my old apartment? How odd! And how very sentimental of you, Clive."
He said, forcing a light tone: "Nothing has ever been disturbed there. It's all as it was when you left. Even your gowns are hanging in the closets—"
"Clive!"
"We'll go around if you like. Would you care to see it again?"
"Y—yes."