“It does seem a long, long time ago that we first passed through Paris. But I can't say I am quite used to matrimony yet. Do you know, I have sometimes hoped that I never should be.”
“Why?”
“Can't you guess? At present, dear, it is all glamour and mystery, and when you get too familiar with the glamour it turns into the commonplace. That's why I am just a little bit sorry we left Bordighera.”
“It was certainly very jolly,” he assented reflectively. “But we are having as good a time here, aren't we?”
“Well, I like these little half hours best,” said Clytie, “when we are alone together. When we are parted it seems as if I am suddenly called upon to live as an individual and do not quite know how to begin. You see, when I am alone with you I know how to behave as Clytie Hammerdyke, but not yet when I am by myself or with other people.”
Thornton laughed, as a man in love laughs when he thinks he is replying to an idle, pretty remark.
“You have always Clytie Davenant to fall back upon,” he said.
“Have I? That's just the question I have been putting to myself. But I can't explain it to you. I don't think you would understand.”
“Of course I understand!” he cried quickly. “You have to mix with people as a married woman, and you are a bit shy at first. But you'll pull through all right, dear. Why, as it is, you are superb.”
“Oh, come,” she said, laughing. “I can talk to people without blushing and morally biting the corner of my apron. I meant something a little more subtle than that. You see, after all, you don't understand. I can never, never be Clytie Davenant again. She was buried for good and all at Bordighera.”