It was Oliver who brought up the subject that evening.
"David's back. If you'd been with him, how excited I should have felt to-day!" he remarked. "Odd, isn't it?"
"You would have been in France," she reminded him.
He laid his book aside with a sudden brisk movement.
She drifted across the room to a shadowy corner.
"I don't know," she said rather flatly, bending over a bowl of white roses. "I suppose I don't feel like it any more. It's hard to take things up again."
He fingered his book; then, as if despite himself, he said;
"I'm afraid, dear, that we're letting ourselves grow old."
She swung sharply about, catching her breath.
"Both of us." He was cautious, tender even, but she was not deceived. It was almost a relief that he had spoken.
"Tell me, dear," she said from her corner. "You're bored, aren't you? Oh, not with me"--she forestalled his protest--"but just plain bored. Isn't it so?" Her voice was deceptively quiet.
He stirred in his chair, fidgeted under the direct attack, and decided not to evade it.
"I think we've been buried long enough," he finally confessed. "I love our evenings together, of course; but a little change now and then might be agreeable. Perhaps it isn't a good thing for two people to be thrown entirely on each other's company. And I've been wondering, dear"--he hesitated, carefully picking his words-- "I've been wondering if you would not be happier if you had other interests--interests of your own."
"Suppose I don't want any?" She did not give this out as a challenge, but he frowned a trifle impatiently.
"I can't believe it possible," he said. "Have you lost all touch with the world?"
She came slowly forward into the warm circle of light.
"I don't seem to care for people and things as I used to. Look at me. I'm not the same Myra."
She stared at him with a deep, searching expression, and what she saw drew her up with a sudden movement of decision. Her voice, when next she spoke, was lighter, more animated.
"You're right, dear. We're growing poky. I tell you what we'll do," she continued in a playful manner. Her lips smiled, and her eyes watched as she knelt beside him, her head tilted, her fingers straying over the rough surface of his coat. He never dressed for dinner in these days. "We'll give a party, shall we?" she said. "And then everyone will know that we're still--alive."
