“Losing yours, Sue?”
“I'm afraid it's gone.”
“You thought this little eddy of talk was real life?”
She nodded. “Oh, I did.”
“And then you encountered reality?”
Her eyes, startled, vivid, now somber, flashed up at him. “Henry, how did you know? What do you know?”
“Not a thing, Sue. But I know you a little. And I've thought about you.”
“Then,” she said, her eyes down again, suppression in her voice—“then they aren't talking about me?”
“Not that I've heard. Sue. Though it would hardly come to me.”
She bit her lip. “There you have it, Henry. With the ideas I've held, and talked everywhere, I ought not to care what they say. But I do care.”