“Perhaps not at first—in my play, he wouldn’t. But in Yeats’s play, years later, he does understand. When the older king complains that even his former sweetheart makes war on him, he says: “_No wonder in that, no wonder at all in that. I never have known love but as a kiss In the mid battle, and a difficult truce Of oil and water, candles and dark night, Hillside and hollow, the hot-footed sun And the cold, sliding, slippery-footed moon— A brief forgiveness between opposites That have been hatreds for three times the age Of this long ’stablished ground._” “A kiss in the mid-battle!” she repeated. “That is lovely.” She raised her cocktail. “Here’s to our play!” They drank. “Now,” he said, a little embarrassedly, “I feel that I shall have to write that play!” She put her hand on his for a moment. “Don’t feel that,” she said. “I know—people dream of things and ... don’t do them. I shan’t hold you to account. But it’s a lovely dream—and that’s what I’m drinking to.” “But wouldn’t you rather have the play than the dream?” he asked. “I don’t know.... By the time you wrote it—I would be interested in something else, and you would want another girl to do it. Why should we bother with promises? We’re not that kind.... If I said I loved you—and I could say that right now—I always love people who think of lovely things, and that play was a lovely thing to think of—why, I wouldn’t expect you to hold me to account for it ... later.” “Do you love me?” he asked, in a casual tone. “Yes.... Here are the fishes!... Of course I do. You are a terribly nice person. You love me, don’t you?” “Yes,” said Felix. The waiter went away, and she laughed. “That was a test,” she said. “A man who can talk about love in the presence of the waiter without looking awkward—! But I meant it, too.... These _are_ good, aren’t they?” “Delicious! Especially these sprats. I don’t know what a sprat is, but I’m sure this is one.” “That’s another thing—people ought to be able to talk about love, and food, and art, and money, in the same tone of voice. Some men would be shocked to hear me discuss love and little fishes all in the same breath.” “I seem to be passing all your tests.” “Yes—it doesn’t even make you nervous to be compared with other men.” “Oh, I suppose there _are_ other men in the world,” said Felix. “They don’t interest me, but I don’t mind your alluding to them.” “So long as it’s to their disadvantage!” “Or any other way. I simply can’t take them seriously. Men seem ridiculous creatures to me.” “I’ve known some very interesting ones!” “You thought so at the time. A pardonable mistake. The truth is, Bobbie Eulenspiegel, you and I are the only truly interesting people alive in the world at this moment.” She laughed up into his eyes. “I think so too,” she said.