She smiled at me.
"What are you thinking of?"
"I wasn't thinking at all," said I. "I was only gratefully
admiring you."
"Why gratefully?"
"Oughtn't one to be grateful to God for the beautiful things He
gives us?"
She flushed and averted her eyes. "You are very good to me, Majy."
"What made you attire yourself in all this splendour?" I asked,
laughing. The wise man does not carry sentiment too far. He keeps
it like a little precious nugget of pure gold; the less wise beats
it out into a flabby film.
"I don't know," she said, shifting her position and casting a
critical glance at her bodice. "All kinds of funny little feminine
vanities. Perhaps I wanted to see whether I hadn't gone off.
Perhaps I wanted to try to feel good-looking even if I wasn't.
Perhaps I thought my dear old Majy was sick to death of the
hospital uniform perfumed with disinfectant. Perhaps it was just a
catlike longing for comfort. Anyhow, I'm glad you like me."
"My dear Betty," said I, "I adore you."
"And I you," she laughed. "So there's a pair of us."
She lit a cigarette and sipped her coffee. Then, breaking a short
silence:
"I hope you quite understand, dear, what I said about Leonard
Boyce.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333