“Perhaps it is the approach of your great happiness,” blundered Jimmie, in perfect conviction. She was silent. “It has been more to me than I can say,” he went on, “to see you once again—as you are, before your marriage. I wish you many blessings—all that love can bring you.”
“Do you think love is necessary for married happiness?”
“Without it marriage must be a horror,” said Jimmie. For a moment she was on the brink of harsh laughter. Did he sincerely believe she was in love with Morland? She could have hurled the question at him. Will checked the rising hysteria and turned it into other channels.
“Why have you never married? You must have loved somebody once.”
It was a relief to hurt him. The dusk was gathering in the room, and she could scarcely see his face. A Sunday stillness filled the quiet square outside. The hour had its dangers.
“My having loved a woman does not necessarily imply that I could have married her,” said Jimmie.
The evasion irritated her mood, awoke a longing to make him speak. She drew her chair nearer, bent forward, so that the brim of her great hat almost brushed his forehead and the fragrance of her overspread him.
“Do you remember a picture you would n't show me in your studio? You called it a mad painter's dream. You said it was the Ideal Woman.”
“You said so,” replied Jimmie.
“I should like to see it.”