Such candour deserved candour in return. Despite his age,
he looked just then attractively, sympathetically boyish. He was a
benevolent creature. The responsive kindliness of his enquiring "How?"
was beyond question genuine. Once more, in the warm and dark-glowing
comfort of her home, the contrast between the masculine, thick rough
overcoat and the feminine, diaphanous, useless kimono appealed to her
soul. It seemed to justify, even to call for, confidence from her to
him.
The Italian woman behind the door coughed impatiently and was not
heard.
Chapter 5
OSTEND
In July she had gone to Ostend with an American. A gentleman, but mad.
One of those men with a fixed idea that everything would always be
all right and that nothing really and permanently uncomfortable
could possibly happen. A very fair man, with red hair, and radiating
wrinkles all round his eyes--phenomenon due to his humorous outlook on
the world. He laughed at her because she travelled with all her bonds
of the City of Paris on her person. He had met her one night, and
the next morning suggested the Ostend excursion. Too sudden,
too capricious, of course; but she had always desired to see the
cosmopolitanism of Ostend.
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