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“No: only candid.”

Molly’s wounded pride, besieged by her curiosity, held out for five minutes. Then: “Did you talk to him much?”

“Heaps.”

“All the way down?”

No answer.

“Is he nice?”

Silence.

“Is he clever?”

“I want to work.”

“Well, what I want to know is, and then I’ll let you alone—what did you talk about? Tell me that, and I won’t ask another question.”

“We talked,” said Nina deliberately, taking a clean brush, “we talked about your brother Cecil. No, I shan’t tell you what we said, or why we talked about him, or anything. You’ve had your one question, now shut up.”

“Nina,” said Molly calmly, “if I didn’t like you so much I should hate you.”

“That certainty about the other has always been the foundation of our mutual regard,” said Nina calmly.

Then they laughed, and began to work in