"How lovely. They're new. Where did you get them?"
The talk turned on ordinary topics. They had not met for a year, and they spoke of trivial happenings. Emmy touched lightly on her life in Paris. They exchanged information as to their respective journeys. Emmy had had a good crossing the day before, but Madame Bolivard, who had faced the hitherto unknown perils of the deep with unflinching courage, had been dreadfully seasick. The boy had slept most of the time. Awake he had been as good as gold.
"He's the sweetest tempered child under the sun."
"Like his father," said Zora, "who is both sweet tempered and a child."
The words were a dagger in Emmy's heart. She turned away swiftly lest Zora should see the pain in her eyes. The intensity of the agony had been unforeseen.
"I hope the little mite has a spice of the devil from our side of the family," added Zora, "or it will go hard with him. That's what's wrong with poor Septimus."
Emmy turned with a flash. "There's nothing wrong with Septimus. I wouldn't change him for any man in the world."
Zora raised surprised eyebrows and made the obvious retort:
"Then, my dear, why on earth don't you live with him?"
Emmy shrugged her shoulders, and looked out of the window. There was a block of flats over the way, and a young woman at a window immediately opposite was also looking out. This irritated her. She resented being stared at by a young woman in a flat. She left the window and sat on the sofa.