"Well, in the first place, my luncheon didn't disagree with me. It never does."
She laughed. "But the sentiment—come now—the sentiment? Do you perceive any hint of emptiness—despair?"
Our chairs were very close, and she leaned forward a little.
"Emptiness or no emptiness," I said a little tremulously, "I know that I haven't been so contented, so happy for a long time."
She sat very still, but turned her gaze on the fire.
"You really wouldn't want to find that, Hugh," she said in another voice, at which I exclaimed. "No, I'm not being sentimental. But, to be serious, I really shouldn't care to think that of you. I'd like to think of you as a friend—a good friend—although we don't see very much of one another."
"But that's why I came, Nancy," I explained. "It wasn't just an impulse—that is, I've been thinking of you a great deal, all along. I miss you, I miss the way you look at things—your point of view. I can't see any reason why we shouldn't see something of each other—now—"
She continued to stare into the fire.
"No," she said at length, "I suppose there isn't any reason." Her mood seemed suddenly to change as she bent over and extinguished the flame under the kettle. "After all," she added gaily, "we live in a tolerant age, we've reached the years of discretion, and we're both too conventional to do anything silly—even if we wanted to—which we don't. We're neither of us likely to quarrel with the world as it is, I think, and we might as well make fun of it together. We'll begin with our friends. What do you think of Mr. Scherer's palace?"
"I hear you're building it for him."