"And now that he is gone," he said, "and that there is war, you are
going to employ yourself by falling in love with him, when you had
all the time before, and did not take advantage of it."
Desiree laughed at him and made no other answer. While she spoke to
Lisa he sat and watched them.
"It would be like a woman to do such a thing," he pursued. "They
are so inconvenient--women. They get married for fun, and then one
fine Thursday they find they have missed all the fun, like one who
comes late to the theatre--when the music is over."
He went to the table and examined the morning marketing, which Lisa
had laid out in preparation for dinner. Of some of her purchases he
approved, but he laughed aloud at a lettuce which had no heart, and
at such a buyer.
Then Desiree attracted his scrutiny again.
"Yes," he said, half to himself, "I see it. You are in love. Just
Heaven, I know! I have had them in love with me . . . . Barlasch."
"That must have been a long time ago," answered Desiree with her gay
laugh, only giving him half her attention.
"Yes, it was a century ago. But they were the same then as they are
now, as they always will be--inconvenient. They waited, however,
till they were grown up!"
And with his ever-ready accusing finger he drew Desiree's attention
to her own slimness. They were left alone for a minute while Lisa
answered a knock at the door, during which time Barlasch sat in grim
silence.
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