‘Well, what’s wrong with that?’ asked Prudence rather sharply. ‘I always think women who write books sound rather formidable.’ ‘You’d prefer them to be stupid and feminine? To think men are wonderful?’ ‘Well, every man likes to be thought wonderful. A woman need not necessarily be stupid to admire a man.’ Prudence thought a little sadly of her admiration for Arthur Grampian, now perhaps in the past. She could not pretend that she really admired Fabian in quite the same way. But when the wine came, golden and delicious, her heart warmed towards him and by the time they were drinking black
