Elbows resting on the parapet, she thought for a moment.
“You’re right. Let me get my coat and I’ll be straight down.”
Hurrying downstairs, the librarian realized she had been invaded by a familiar anxiety which she hated to admit she hadn’t mastered—despite the sleepless nights, all the conversations and confidences, the tears spilled; despite the rebukes and well-meaning advice she’d received on the absurdity of her sudden access of love—despite it all, she hadn’t mastered the anxiety. She hadn’t overcome that upset, that violent disturbance which had plunged her perfectly and carefully cultivated equilibrium to the bottom of the ocean.
“You should take more exercise; you’re very flushed.”
“Oh!” she said, wondering for the umpteenth time why he seemed unable to appreciate the distinction between honesty and tactlessness.
It was cold—intensely, bleakly cold—as they headed to the south side of the garden where an old wooden summerhouse stood, full of gardening tools, empty pots, useless junk of all shapes and sizes, a white-painted table, and four decrepit garden chairs that had been around for more years than anyone could remember.
“Why don’t you fix this place up?” asked Miss Prim, sitting down on one of the chairs.
“Because I like it like this.”
“Why?” Somewhere inside her the librarian could hear a clashing of swords.
He regarded her in silence, as if gauging whether her question had been innocent or more of a provocation.
“Why what?”
“Why do you only like old things?”
“That’s not quite true. I like some new things.”
“Really?” she asked. “Name one.”
He smiled in a way she now understood.
“You, for instance.”
She sighed in feigned dismay.
“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment. I’m glad you don’t think of me as old, but I’m not sure it’s flattering to be considered a thing.”
He laughed and she felt her eyes fill with tears. She lowered her head and, when she looked up, her eyes met his.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “The thought of leaving makes me sad.”
“Really?”
Miss Prim looked at him with a mixture of surprise and reproach.
“Of course,” she said, eyes glistening.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “because I’m sorry you’re leaving too. You’ve been a marvelous opponent, as well as great company. I’ll miss our arguments.”
She dropped her gaze, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
“Don’t lie. You know perfectly well that I’ve never been any sort of opponent for you. You’ve won all the arguments, you’ve twisted my words, and you’ve always done me the favor of infuriating me.”
“That’s a favor?” he said wryly.
“Yes,” she said, unbowed. “When I arrived I was reluctant to entertain any viewpoint other than my own. In that respect I’m afraid I’m rather like you.”
“Well, I have to admit that your attacks have helped me understand certain things.”
Resisting the urge to say she had never attacked anyone, Miss Prim straightened slightly in her chair and leaned forward.
