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“Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. ’ Joan nodded, her face still averted. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. His frowning gaze came back to her. It was the grand nursery of vice. In his youth he must have been a remarkably handsome man, for he is still handsome. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. . She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. One has to be so careful. “Don’t think that I have been playing the spy upon you,” he continued. ‘But a spy I am not. His perception of her personal beauty deepened and quickened with each encounter. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival.
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