The fixed mobile smile of
Cytherea flashed into his thoughts. His perpetual restlessness struck
through him.
His attitude toward the Morrises was largely dictated by his fondness
for Claire. He had determined what, exactly, he would say to Peyton.
Yet, as a fact, he returned to his former assertion to Fanny; the boy
would make it difficult, if not impossible, to discuss such intimate
relationships. And as Claire had pointed out, the very openness of
Peyton's life would make him exceptionally far to reach; he was
particularly youthful in his hardness, his confidence in his acts and
friends and beliefs; yet all that couldn't help but be upset now.
"Fanny will think I have designs on you," Claire remarked; "go up when
you like. I am not a bit sleepy."
Lee had no intention of going to bed then, and told her so. It seemed
to him that, perhaps, with Claire, he might discover something that
would set his questioning at rest. Vain delusion. He asked what her
plans were:
"I'll stay in Eastlake for the winter, and, in March, go to Italy, to
give Peyton his divorce--Florence; I lived a while at Arcetri; it's
very lovely."
He had a momentary experimental vision of a small yellow villa among
the olives of the Florentine hills, of crumbling pink walls with
emerald green lizards along the stones, of myrtles and remarkable
lilies-of-the-valley. Twenty years ago it would have drawn him
irresistibly; but not now; he wanted--where his wants were articulate--
a far different thing.
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