“Neither do I. I don't indeed. Sometimes I feel like a creature with its feet in a trap. The insane, insane improbability of it!” She laughed again. It was delicious to hear her.
“But—he is a priest!”
“Much more difficult. He is a saint.”
Alicia glanced at the floor. The record of another lighter moment twitched itself out of a day that was forgotten.
“Are you quite certain?” she said. “You told me once that—that there had been other times.”
“They are useful, those foolish episodes. They explain to one the difference.” The tone of this was very even, very usual, but Alicia was aware of a suggestion in it that accused her of aggression, that almost ranged her hostile. She hurried out of that position.
“If it were possible,” she said, frowning at her embarrassment. “I see nothing—nothing REALLY against it.”
“I should think not! Can't you conceive what I could do for him?”
“And what could he do for you?” Alicia asked, with a flash of curiosity.
“I don't think I can let you ask me that.”