“No: only candid.”
Molly’s wounded pride, besieged by her curiosity, held out for five minutes. Then: “Did you talk to him much?”
“Heaps.”
“All the way down?”
No answer.
“Is he nice?”
Silence.
“Is he clever?”
“I want to work.”
“Well, what I want to know is, and then I’ll let you alone—what did you talk about? Tell me that, and I won’t ask another question.”
“We talked,” said Nina deliberately, taking a clean brush, “we talked about your brother Cecil. No, I shan’t tell you what we said, or why we talked about him, or anything. You’ve had your one question, now shut up.”
“Nina,” said Molly calmly, “if I didn’t like you so much I should hate you.”
“That certainty about the other has always been the foundation of our mutual regard,” said Nina calmly.
Then they laughed, and began to work in
