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. They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. “Please stop fighting me. “David Courtlaw!” she repeated. ‘But to do only what one wishes, it is not always convenient.
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