‘You can ask me anything you like.’
But he did not answer.
‘It is so terrible to be hated. Tell him I won’t do you any harm.’
But perhaps that was not true. Perhaps she meant endless mischief. Supposing she were to take Roddy from Tony, from all his friends and lovers, from all his idle Parisian and English life, and attach him to herself, tie him and possess him: that would mean giving him cares, responsibilities: it might mean changing him from his free and secret self into something ordinary, domesticated, resentful. Perhaps his lovers and friends would be well advised to gather round him jealously and guard him from the female. She saw herself for one moment as a creature of evil design, dangerous to him, and took her hand away from his that held it lightly.
‘I’ll tell him you won’t do me any harm,’ he repeated absently. He was staring into her face.
‘You’re going away now,’ she said, ‘and I don’t know when I shall see you again.’
‘I don’t know either,’ he said smiling.
‘To-morrow you’ll have forgotten. But I shan’t forget this evening.’
‘Nor shall I. I don’t forget you, Judy. I sometimes wish I could. I’m a little afraid of you.’
‘Afraid of me?’