perfect horse-powers of energy under perfect control, and I liked her and hated her both at once. It's quite a wonderful feeling, being bossed by somebody who's a reincarnation of Potiphar's wife—little Joseph and all—and yet she'd go out in the kitchen if she was hungry and fry herself a T-bone steak, or sit down and get drunk with the cook."
Rhoda glanced up at Grover, who was standing by the mantel, staring at nothing. She studied him for a moment, a little uncertainly, then turned away. "What a pretty little dress, Sophie. You're the only person I know who can wear those shades of tan and still look cool. What I really came in for was to see if I couldn't persuade you to come up for a few weeks this summer. You can have two rooms and a verandah and a little garden, if you want to be alone. If you don't there's us, and the boat, and the horses, and anybody you'd like to invite—dull but healthy, and you do like Dad . . . Perhaps if you come up Grover will decide to stay home. He can dine with us and make music on the piano, or tell you about Henry James. Between us perhaps we can hold him."
"Why should he be held?" asked Sophie. "Why try to make people do what they don't want to?"
"I don't. I merely try to make them not want to do what they want to do! . . . Which doesn't make my invitation to you sound half as cordial as I really mean it. We'd love to have you in any case."
