She nodded. “Are you very deeply in love with your wife? Or am I being too personal?”
I said that when she was, I’d speak up.
She put her hands and wrists farther forward on the table, and I remember wanting to do something about that enormous-faced wristwatch she was wearing—perhaps suggest that she try wearing it around her waist.
“Usually, I’m not terribly gregarious,” she said, and looked over at me to see if I knew the meaning of the word. I didn’t give her a sign, though, one way or the other. “I purely came over because I thought you looked extremely lonely. You have an extremely sensitive face.”
I said she was right, that I had been feeling lonely, and that I was very glad she’d come over.
“I’m training myself to be more compassionate. My aunt says I’m a terribly cold person,” she said and felt the top of her head again. “I live with my aunt. She’s an extremely kind person. Since the death of my mother, she’s done everything within her power to make Charles and me feel adjusted.”
“I’m glad.”
“Mother was an extremely intelligent person. Quite sensuous, in many ways.” She looked at me with a kind of fresh acuteness. “Do you find me terribly cold?”
I told her absolutely not—very much to the contrary, in fact. I told her my name and asked for hers. She hesitated. “My first name is Esme. I don’t think I shall tell you my full name, for the moment. I have a title and you may just be impressed by titles. Americans are, you know.”
I said I didn’t think I would be, but that it might be a good idea, at that, to hold on to the title for a while.