“I know I wouldn’t. But I’m not a girl any more, am I?”

“You’re not so old.”

“No, I’m not so old.”

“You do feel something for me, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, I’ve told you I do. For God’s sake, Wyndham, don’t just lie there, smoke a cigarette or something. And light me one at the same time. Of course I feel something for you, sometimes I feel a terrible lot about you, but I’m just not equipped to deal with it, I’m in no position to deal with it, I haven’t time for you. It’s not fair on you, it’s not what you want. I feel about you as I used to feel about the first boy I was ever in love with; he was an undergraduate at Cambridge while I was still a schoolgirl. I hardly knew him, but my father used to ask him to come to tea sometimes and I used to shake and tremble and watched the clock and hand round the sugar so that my hand might touch his when he picked up the sugar spoon. That’s not love, that’s craziness: I didn’t know the man. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. I hate it when I see that your button’s missing. I only know one person, and that’s David, and I don’t want to know anyone else. It’s horrible, quite horrible, knowing people. But what do you want with this kind of crazy schoolgirl passion? It’s no good for you, I can see it’s no good for you. What you want is something nice and warm and lovely, like Sophy Brent.”

“How very odd,” he said, “that you should mention Sophy Brent. She was what I thought I was going to get when I fixed this season up. I had my eye on her from the start, I can tell you.”

“I realized that. I’m sure it’s not too late. Aren’t you sorry now, that you got distracted?”

“I’m sure you didn’t distract me on purpose.”

“I didn’t say no.”

“I always get the sense that you’re just about to.”

“Do you? Are you sorry that you’ve got me on your hands rather than Sophy?”

“No, I’m not sorry. I can see that Sophy’s nice and easy and straightforward, but you have your attractions, too. The attraction of the difficult. Trying to get a kiss out of you is like trying to get blood out of a stone. It makes me feel proud of myself when I get out of you.”

“I don’t mean to be difficult.”

“Don’t you? You don’t do it on purpose, to keep me where you’ve got me?”

“Where have I got you?”

“Well, here.”