“The life of a hermit cabbage isn’t good for you,” she said. “Give it up and come with us.”
Again he shook his head. No. They did not want such a drag on the wheels of their joyous chariot. Besides, he was tied to Medlow as long as she graciously allowed him to live there. His sister had definitely left her dissolute husband and was living under his protection.
“You should be living under the protection of a wife,” Olivia declared. “I’ve told you so often, haven’t I?”
“And I’ve always answered that bachelors are born, not made—and I’m one born.”
“Predestination! Rubbish!” cried Triona, rising with a laugh. “Your Calvinistic atavism is running away with you. It’s time for your national antidote. I’ll bring it in.”
He went out of the room, in his boyish way, in search of whisky. Olivia leaned forward in her chair.
“You may not know it, but from that first day a year ago you made yourself a dear friend—so you’ll forgive me if I——” She paused for a second, and went on abruptly: “You’ve changed. Now and then you look so unhappy. I wish I could help you.”
He laughed. “It’s very dear of you to think of me, Lady Olivia—but the change is not in me. I’ve remained the same. It’s your eyes that have grown so accustomed to the radiant gladness of a happy man that they expect the same in any old fossil on the beach.”
“Now you make me feel utterly selfish,” she cried.
“How?”