She turned to him, her face frozen into whiteness.
"Not coming? Why not?"
"While mother lives I must make her happy."
"Oh, don't be goody-goody."
He blazed. "I'm not."
"You are. Aren't you ever going to live your own life?"
"I am living it. But I can't break mother's heart."
"You might as well break hers as—mine."
He stared down at her. Mingled forever after with his thoughts of that moment was a blurred vision of her whiteness and stillness. Her slim hands were crossed tensely on her knees.
He laid one of his own awkwardly over them. "Dear girl," he said, "you don't in the least mean it."