He was miles from her point of view. Forests of different spiritual and social instincts separated them.
“I was only teasing you. I liked to see you angry. I loved you most when you had that fierce look.”
The conversation had established itself upon possible lines, had found the rails, so to speak. She was sitting now on the grass, supported by her hand. The other held her hat, with which she fanned herself. Bunny made no reply. He was busily engaged in reconstructing a theory of woman out of hideously broken fragments. Vittoria dropped her hat and took a handkerchief from the low table.
“May I?” she asked. “Mine is useless.”
Bunny nodded. She turned her face away, buried it in the clean cool linen, rubbed vigorously, and when the handkerchief had done its utmost she thrust it in her p
