‘I’ve never cried, Jennifer.’
That was true enough. There were no tears to soften such arid and infecund griefs.
‘Ah!’ she said. ‘You say that as if——’
‘Why did you think I’d cried?’
‘Oh, it was just an idea I got. Something somebody said put it into my head and I couldn’t get rid of it. But now—I don’t know. The way you spoke makes me almost wish you had cried: because you seemed to mean you hadn’t been able to.’
She shut her eyes and lay still.
‘Jennifer, don’t. Don’t let’s go on. What’s the use? You know we’re not putting anything right or doing each other any good. It’s getting late—so I’d better go. You’ll be so tired to-morrow and it’ll be my fault. I ought never to have come.’
‘Oh, don’t go yet!’ she besought. ‘Look. We won’t talk any more. There’s some things I must say, but perhaps I’ll be able to say them later.’ She sat up in bed. ‘I’ve been feeling so gloomy! Let’s try to be cheerful for a change. Really, my gloom has been beyond a joke. I’ve wanted to hide in a dark hole. Imagine! I think my hair must look awful. Fetch me my brush, darling. I simply haven’t had the heart to give it a good brushing for ages.’
Her spirits were rising: the tone of her voice had changed, and the peculiar individuality of her manner of speech had returned with surprising suddenness.