“Sylvia is my only woman friend.”
“You imagine that.”
“I do not imagine it; but I do not care.”
At dinner that night they were an uneven number.
“We must all go in together,” said Launa. “Sylvia, come with me.”
She put her hand on Sylvia’s arm and they went first.
Mr. Wainbridge came last; he wore depression ostentatiously until after the soup, and asked if they believed in ghosts.
“In ghosts,” inquired Mr. George. “In some ghosts. Do you believe in them?”
“Launa does,” said Mr. Wainbridge.
“I wish I could,” she answered.