"Well, yes. What I was going to say is that she isn't in sympathy with certain views I hold, and—"
"Do we have to rationalize? You wanted to be with me, and you are. You're with me, and we're alone. Unless you've brought your conscience?"
"Darling," he said "I'm an artist."
Her face was close now, her lips slightly parted. Her arms trembled around his neck. Her lips were warm and soft and seeking....
The opalescence grew to a soft brilliance, growing and ebbing, ebbing finally to a languid dusk. The smell of grass was like a violet mist and the willows sighed in envy.
"Aren't you ever going to get up, Ted?"
He looked up sleepily to see his wife standing in the doorway. Her dark hair was high off her neck and her pert face was freshly scrubbed. She wore a red, tailored dressing robe.
He said, "Red brings you to life, Ann. You should wear it oftener."
"Thank you. Buckwheat cakes and Canadian bacon, sleepy head." She came over to sit on the edge of his bed. "Ted—I probably worded that badly last night about the job, but—"
"But let's not talk about it before breakfast," he said quickly. "I'll be down in a few minutes."