“I don't know. Are you? You're a man.”
“Don't talk that way, Leila.”
“No, I won't. What is it that you and Sylvia Landis have to talk about so continuously every time you meet?”
“She's merely civil to me,” he explained.
“That's more than she is to a lot of people. What do you talk about?”
“I don't know—nothing in particular; mostly about Shotover, and the people there last summer.”
“Doesn't she ever mention Stephen Siward?”
“Usually. She knows I like him.”
“She likes him, too,” said Leila, looking at him steadily.
“I know it. Everybody likes him—or did. I do, yet.”