I like the smell of warm kitchens and the talk of
bus-drivers, and bread and herrings for my tea--all the low
satisfactions appeal to me. Beer, too, and hand-organs."
"I don't know when to believe you. He talks about her quite freely,
and--and so do I. She is really interesting in her way."
"And in perspective."
"Don't be odiously smart. He and Stephen"--her glance was
tentative--"have made it up."
"Oh!"
"He admits now that Stephen was justified, from his point of view. But
of course that is easy enough when you have come off best."
"Of course."
"Hilda, what do you _think_?"
"Oh, I think it's damnable--you have always known what I think. Have you
seen him lately--I mean your cousin?"
"He lunched with us yesterday. He was more enthusiastic than ever about
you."
"I wish you could tell me that he hadn't mentioned my name. I don't want
his enthusiasm. The pit gives one that."
"Hilda, tell me; what is your idea of--of what it ought to be? What is
the principal part of it? Not enthusiasm--adoration?"
"Goodness, no! Something quite different and quite simple--too simple to
explain. Besides, it is a thing that requires the completest ignorance
to discuss comfortably.
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