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You believe, as I do, in going
on as normally as possible. All these people who go around glooming
because there is a war across the Atlantic! They are so tiresome.
Good heavens, the hysterical attitude of some women! And Clay!"
He released her hand.
"So you like me because I'm sensible! Thanks."
"That's a good reason, isn't it?"
"Good God, Natalie, I'm only sensible because I have to be. Not
about the war. I'm not talking about that. About you."
"What have I got to do with your being sensible and sane?"
"Just think about things, and you'll know."
She was greatly thrilled and quite untouched. It was a pleasant
little game, and she held all the winning cards. So she said,
very softly:
"We mustn't go on like this, you know. We mustn't spoil things."
And by her very "we" let him understand that the plight was not his
but theirs. They were to suffer on, she implied, in a mutual,
unacknowledged passion. He flushed deeply.
But although he was profoundly affected, his infatuation was as
spurious as her pretense of one.


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