Seven months and fourteen days, I forget the odd hours
exactly, but I'll think.
She. I only wanted to see if you remembered. Who are those two
on the Blessington Road?
He. Eabrey and the Penner Woman. What do they matter to us?
Tell me everything that you've been doing and saying and thinking.
She. Doing little, saying less, and thinking a great deal. I've hardly
been out at all.
He. That was wrong of you. You haven't been moping?
She. Not very much. Can you wonder that I'm disinclined for
amusement?
He. Frankly, I do. Where was the difficulty?
She. In this only. The more people I know and the more I'm known
here, the wider spread will be the news of the crash when it comes.
I don't like that.
He. Nonsense. We shall be out of it.
She. You think so?
He. I'm sure of it, if there is any power in steam or horse-flesh to
carry us away. Ha! ha!
She. And the fun of the situation comes in where, my Lancelot?
He. Nowhere, Guinevere. I was only thinking of something.
She. They say men have a keener sense of humour than women.
Now I was thinking of the scandal.
He. Don't think of anything so ugly. We shall be beyond it.
She. It will be there all the same in the mouths of Simla
telegraphed over India, and talked of at the dinners and when He
goes out they will stare at Him to see how he takes it.
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