She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. “I always notice that people find it very easy to believe what they want to believe, and you see I’m not in the least popular. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. Had she too been flying from something and had accepted this method of escape? But what frying-pan could be equal to this fire? All this led him back to the original circle. “Well, I have said what I had to say, stumblingly and badly, and baldly. ” She was silent for a time, with her nose on the pillow, and that brought her to: “What’s the good of pretending? “I love him,” she said aloud to the dim forms of her room, and repeated it, and went on to imagine herself doing acts of tragically dog-like devotion to the biologist, who, for the purposes of the drama, remained entirely unconscious of and indifferent to her proceedings. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice. They reluctantly went back to school the Thursday after New Year’s Day. ” “Yeah, I think she hates you, hon.
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