"It's getting late," Fanny said briskly. There was a general movement,
sighs and the settling of skirts. The lights were switched on, and the
fire, that had been a source of magic, became nothing more than ugly
grey charring logs with a few thin tongues of flame. Lee, with his
wife, stopped to say good-bye to Mina Raff; Fanny's manner was bright,
conventional; as palpably insincere to the other woman, Lee was
certain, as it was to him. He said:
"I hope your new picture will go well."
"Thank you," she responded, her slight hand lingeringly holding his;
"perhaps you will like me better on the screen than in reality."
"Could you tell me which was which?"
She hesitated. "Three months ago, yes, but not now; I'm not sure of
myself."
"That was positively indecent," Fanny observed afterward; "she is as
bold as brass. I hope I am not as big a fool as Claire."
"Claire and you are very different," he told her; "I have an idea that
she is doing whatever is possible. But then we don't know what we are
talking about: it's fairly evident that Peyton and Mina Raff are
interested in each other, they may be in love; and, if they are, what
does that mean? It isn't your feeling for the children or mine for you;
they are both love; yet what is it?"
"It is God in us," Fanny said gravely; "and keeps us all, Helena and
Gregory and you and me, safely together.
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