At breakfast both of them played their parts skillfully. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. He smiled complacently.
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