“If consistent with your commendable and proper awe of me.”
For a moment or two she was unable to control her laughter. Then a moment’s hesitation, bright-eyed, flushed:
“Barry,” she said, like a child plucking courage from embarrassment.
She had some books to show him from a list she had asked him to make after one of their conferences on self-improvement.
They went over them together, she ardently intent on the unread pages, he conscious of her nearness; the faint, warm perfume of her bent head.
Her mantel-clock struck and she looked up incredulously.
“Yes,” he said, “you’ve got to go.”
“It can’t be noon, can it?”
“I’ll drive you to the studio.”