"I think he does," said she, "though I never really thought about it. When people are such dears as Archie, one doesn't consider what they do. They just are."
"He certainly is. He appears very much alive."
"Yes, he's madly alive."
She gave him a swift glance, and, guessing she had gone far enough on that tack, she put about.
"I think it's possible to be too much alive," she said. "It's like a hot-water bottle that is too hot: it burns you. But you can't help being carried off your feet by it—I don't mean the hot-water bottle."
He paused a moment for the purpose of phrasing.
"I must weight you with a Bradshaw," he said. "That will keep you to earth. We can't spare you."
Helena laughed.
"You say things too neatly," she said. "What a delicious notion! What have you done all day?"
"I have waited for this evening."
"And I hope it doesn't disappoint you now that it has come," she said.
"It is up to my highest expectations just now," said he.
Suddenly it flashed into Helena's mind that this was the temperature of his wooing. He was engaged in that now: those neat and proper sentences, turned as on a lathe, were the expression of it, they and the mild pleased glances that he gave her; and yet, discreet and veiled as it all was, she divined that, according to his nature and his years, it was love that inspired it. She found it quite easy to adjust herself to that level, and if his kiss (when the time came for that) was of the same respectful and finished quality, she could deal with that too. But she wondered how Archie would make love.… It was necessary to fox-trot a little longer, and, while trotting, trot also conversationally, and with intention she let herself press a little more against his arm.
