"So I do," Joan defended herself. "I'm in and out there till I'm sick of the hideous place. You haven't seen the inside. And his wife knows all about it, and is only too glad."
"Does she know about Richmond Park--and the other places?" asked Flossie.
"She wouldn't mind if she did," explained Joan. "And you know what she's like! How can one think what one's saying with that silly, goggle-eyed face in front of one always."
Flossie, since she had become engaged, had acquired quite a matronly train of thought. She spoke kindly, with a little grave shake of her head. "My dear," she said, "the wife is always in the way. You'd feel just the same whatever her face was like."
Joan grew angry. "If you choose to suspect evil, of course you can," she answered with hauteur. "But you might have known me better. I admire the man and sympathize with him. All the things I dream of are the things he is working for. I can do more good by helping and inspiring him"--she wished she had not let slip that word "inspire." She knew that Flossie would fasten upon it--"than I can ever accomplish by myself. And I mean to do it." She really did feel defiant, now.
"I know, dear," agreed Flossie, "you've both of you made up your minds it shall always remain a beautiful union of twin spirits. Unfortunately you've both got bodies--rather attractive bodies."
"We'll keep it off that plane, if you don't mind," answered Joan with a touch of severity.
"I'm willing enough," answered Flossie. "But what about Old Mother Nature? She's going to be in this, you know."