"It's the one thing I couldn't forgive—deceit," said Teresa, looking straight ahead.
"But why—when it is really a compliment to you? … For a man to tell his wife certain things, for example, he must be entirely indifferent to her, or she to him. Most things are not to be told. A man is foolish, he gets into situations where he can't help himself—or he gets fond of someone else—well, why should he tell his wife? It will only make her unhappy and make him deucedly uncomfortable. It can't be done."
"I said you couldn't understand," said Teresa.
"Oh, well, you will enlighten me sometime, won't you?"
"Never!"
"Oh, yes, you will—when we are really friends."
He took her hand and kissed it lightly.
"Charming Teresa! How pretty you are to-day! Don't wear black any more, I beg you, except in the evening. I love you in white. You look more alive now than you have since I came."
"You are enlivening, Ernesto—though I don't agree with a word you say."
"Oh—so long as you listen it is enough!"
