“Amusing!” he retorted savagely. “You seem to think of nothing but being amused. One would think you lived for amusement.”
“Why, so I do, I believe. What better is there to live for? What do you live for?”
As he could not think of any worthy object that inspired his life he did not reply, and they sat in silence. Their drive home was silent also, but at the door of the Pension Pizzicato she held his hand.
“We haven’t quarrelled, have we?”
“No, why?”
“You’re so queer. Not a bit nice. I say, won’t you come up to my room and smoke a cigarette? It’s so late we can slip upstairs without meeting any one.”
An instinct of danger warned him. At the moment, too, she really repelled him.
“No, I’m tired. I want to go home.”
But she still held his hand with a soft pressure.
“Can’t I coax you? Please come. There’s something very important I want to talk to you about.”