He recalled with exasperating perplexity her clear, matter-of-fact tone as she talked about love-making being unconvincing. In vain Wood protested his innocence. “What are you doing?” He cried. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. If I told you the facts, I expect, since you are in love with me, you’d explain the whole business as being very fine and honorable for me—the Higher Morality, or something of that sort.
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