“It gets pretty bad, sometimes,” he said simply and waited. Last night--if things came out right later--will have been just what Elinor needed most, he decided privately. She had always struck him as being a little too aloof to be quite human--but she was changing under his eyes to a very human variety of worried young girl. “Well, isn't there something we can really _do_?” she said diffidently, then changing, “Oh I mean it--if you don't think it's only--probing--asking that?” as she changed again. “Not a thing I'm afraid, Elinor, though I really do thank you.” He hated his voice--it sounded so brave. “It's just finished, that's all. Can't kick very well. Oh no,” as she started to speak, “it doesn't hurt to talk about, really. Helps, more. And Peter and Ted help too--especially Ted.” He watched her narrowly--changing color like that must mean a good deal with Elinor. Then “Why Ted?” she said, almost as if she were talking to herself and then started to try and make him see that that didn't matter--a spectacle to which he remained gratifiedly blind. He addressed his next remarks at the dish of jam so that she wouldn't be able to catch his eye. “Oh, I'm not slamming Peter's sympathetic soul, El, you know I'm not--but Ted and I just happened to go through such a lot of the war and after it together--and then Ted saw a good deal more of Nancy. Peter's delightful. And kind. But he does assume that because lots of people get engaged and disengaged again all over the lot these days as if they were cutting for bridge-partners there isn't anything particularly serious in things like that. Nothing to really make you make faces and bust, that is. Well, ours happened to be one of the other kind--that's the difference. And Peter, well, Peter isn't exactly the soul of constancy when it comes to such matters--” “Peter--oh Peter--if you knew the millions of girls that Peter's kept pictures of--” “Well, I've heard all about the last hundred thousand or so, I think. But there's perfect safety in thousands. It's when you start being so stalwart and sure and manly about one--” Oliver spread out his hands. Elinor's color--the way it fluctuated at least--was most encouraging. So was the fact that she had tried to butter her last muffin with the handle of her knife. “But I don't see _how_ if a girl really cared about a man she could let anything--” she said and then stopped with a burning flush. And now Oliver knew that he had to be very careful. He looked over his tools and decided that infantile bitterness was best. “Girls are girls,” he said shortly, stabbing a muffin. “They tell you they do and then they tell you they don't--that's them.”