"
"I wish you lived in Rome."
"I've seen people being vulgar there too. Besides, there may be reasons
why it would not be good for me to live in Rome."
She glanced at him again less impertinently, and suddenly her whole body
looked softer and kinder.
"You must put up with my face, Robin," she added. "It's no good wishing
me to be ugly. It's no use. I can't be."
She laughed. Her ill-humour had entirely vanished.
"If you were--" he said. "If you were--!"
"What then?"
"Do you think no one would stick to you--stick to you for yourself?"
"Oh, yes."
"Who, then?"
"Quite several old ladies. It's very strange, but old ladies of a certain
class--the almost obsolete class that wears caps and connects piety with
black brocade--like me. They think me 'a bright young thing.' And so I
am."
"I don't know what you are. Sometimes I seem to divine what you are, and
then--then your face is like a cloud which obscures you--except when you
are singing."
She laughed frankly.
"Poor Robin! It was always your great fault--trying to plumb shallows and
to take high dives into water half a foot deep."
He was silent for a minute. At last he said:
"And your husband?"
"Fritz!"
His forehead contracted.
"Fritz--yes. What does he do? Try to walk in ocean depths?"
"You needn't sneer at Fritz," she said sharply.
"I beg your pardon."
"Fritz doesn't bother about shallows and depths.
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