THE SHADOWY THIRD
plants this morning, and stayed talking quite a long time, and said if there was ever anything she could do. . . . She spoke so nicely of you, Martin. She's known you by sight ever since you were a little boy."
"Oh, it's funny to have lived in the same place all one's life. All these people—well, they're sometimes rather tiresome."
"Tiresome?"
"One gets tired of their being the same. Would you like to travel, Pussy?"
"Oh, Martin!" Her eyes grew wistful; the prospect seemed remote.
"Well, we will," he said, with energy. "We'll go to Switzerland—some summer."
"I'd rather go to Italy—Venice."
"Oh, not Venice. I don't think you'd care for Venice. It's nothing very much really."
"Have you been there?"
"Yes, for a bit. I didn't care about it."
"You never told me!" Her eyes that had been looking into his looked suddenly away, the colour surged up under her clear skin. She began to fidget with the spoons on the table.
"More, Martin?"
{{nop}
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