'Perhaps towards both.'
'Isn't that too much to hope?'
'Why? They are compatible. C'est le sort de la jeunesse.'
'Prophesy adventures for me!'
'My dear Julian! I'm far too lazy.'
'Lotus-land, then?'
'This room isn't a bad substitute,' she proffered.
He wondered then at the exact extent of her meaning. He was accustomed to the amazing emotional scenes she had periodically created between them in childhood—scenes which he never afterwards could rehearse to himself; scenes whose fabric he never could dissect, because it was more fantastic, more unreal, than gossamer; scenes in which storm, anger, and heroics had figured; scenes from which he had emerged worried, shattered, usually with the ardent impress of her lips on his, and brimming with self-reproach. A calm existence was not for her; she would neither understand nor tolerate it.
The door opened, and old Nana came shuffling in.