"Well--" He tried to sound the little word as she did. He remembered it, the funny little word that summed up her evasiveness, her reluctance, her absurdity.
She was still standing by the doorstep, stroking the sham porphyry pillar with her childish hand, as if she wanted to see what it was made of.
"It isn't _reelly_ marble," Ransome said.
She gazed at him, wondering. "_What_ isn't?"
"Oh--I wasn't thinking--" She took her hand away suddenly as if the pillar had been a snake and stung her. Then she looked at it.
"How beautiful they make them!" She paused, absolutely grave. Then, "Oh, Ranny, you _have_ got a nice house," she said.
"No. Not _all_ of it." She spoke as if it had been a palace.
"Come in and have a look round," said Ranny.
There was distinct yielding in her voice this time. Winny was half caught.
He lured her in. She came over the threshold as if on some delicious yet perilous adventure, with eyes that shone and with two little teeth that bit down her lower lip; a way she had when she attempted anything difficult and at the same time exciting. He showed her everything except the room she had seen already, the room with the love knots and the rosebuds where Violet and the Baby were. Winny admired everything with joy and yet with reverence, from the splendid overmantel in the front sitting-room to the hot-water tap in the bathroom.
"My word," Winny said, "what I'd give to have a bath like that!"
"I say," said Ransome, suddenly moved, "you take a lot more interest in it all than Virelet does."
"She's used to it," said Winny. "Besides, I always take an interest in other people's houses."
She pondered. They were both leaning out of the back bedroom window now, looking down into the garden.
"Think of all those little empty houses, Ranny, and the people that'll come and live in them. It seems somehow so beautiful their coming and finding them and getting things for them; and at the same time it seems somehow sad." She paused.
"I don't mean that _you're_ sad, Ranny. You know what I mean."
He did. He had felt it too, the beauty and the sadness, but he couldn't have put it into words. It was the sadness and the beauty of life.
It was queer, he thought, how Winny felt as he did about most things in life.