"No. I am. I've grown older, haven't I, Gerrit?"
"Your eyes haven't."
"But the rest of me?"
"Yes, of course. . . . You have grown older. . . ."
"Gerrit, I don't want to get old. . . . I think it terrible to get old. . . . Am I still pretty and . . . ?"
"Yes, yes, yes. . . ."
"But, very soon, I shall . . ."
"You'll what?"
"I shall be plain . . . and old."
"Oh, don't sit there bothering!"
"I'm very fond of you, Gerrit. You're so . . ."
"Yes, I know what you're going to say. I'm off now. . . ."
"Must you go? . . . I say, Gerrit, you have children, haven't you? I expect they're charming children."
He seemed to see mockery in the gleaming eyes.
"You drop it about my children, will you?"
"Mayn't I ask after them?"
"No."
"I saw them out walking the other day."
"Shut up!"
"I thought them so charming."
He swore at her, roughly and hoarsely:
