“Yes, I see,” he said, his hand still on her head. “Of course.”

“But as I say,” she continued, “it’s an effort one must make eventually. Simply in order to stay alive. Like going to that silly party.” She plucked a thread off her sleeve. “Darling, I think I’ll go home. There’s no sense in this.”

“That dress picks up everything,” he said.

Their eyes met. She looked away, with a slight smile. “I suppose there would be a humorous side to all this, wouldn’t there, if one were not involved?”

He still watched her and did not smile. “No, there would not.” He leaned back again, his hands resting on the arms of the chair.

This physical detachment made her suddenly conscious that she was kneeling. She sat back on her heels. “I’m going home,” she said again. She hesitated for a moment. When he said nothing, she pressed her hands on his knees and stood up stiffly.

“You must hurt all over,” he remarked, getting to his feet.

“More or less.”

He switched on another lamp. The light fell on heavy curtains, and on books, chairs, and a sofa.

Standing before a mirror, she drew her hair back with her hand and watched his reflection as he moved across the room. “My earring,” she said.

He came back with it in his hand, and with her coat over his arm. She refocused her eyes to her own reflection in the glass, examining her appearance uncertainly as she fixed the little gold loop to her ear.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said, “about the way you look. You do have a rather mournful face. Not tragic, of course—just mournful.”

“That sounds more discreet, at least.” She turned and faced him, and reached out a hand for her coat. “I must go,” she said.

“And the dress doesn’t help—I’m not sure that black suits you, anyway. Now you really are going to cry.”

“You should be trying to build up my confidence,” she said, unblinking, “instead of doing everything to demolish it.”

He helped her into her coat. “Confidence is one of those things we try to instill into others and then hasten to dispel as soon as it puts in an appearance.”

“Like love,” she observed, turning to the door.

“Like love,” he said. “Exactly.”

A PLACE IN THE COUNTRY

“Try to keep the poetry separate,” said May. “The rest can be arranged later.” She made her way around the boxes of books and china to the doorway, and called up the stairs. “Clem! When you’re finished up there, you could help Nettie with the books.” She had a powerful, almost insistent voice and she evidently assumed that her husband heard her, for she came back into the living room without waiting for his reply and knelt down on the rug beside Nettie. “I can make a start on the china.”