This is their love-making, Eleanor thought, half listening to their laughter, to their bickering. Another inch of the pattern, she thought, still using her half-formulated idea to stamp the immediate scene. And if this love-making differs from the old, still it has its charm; it was ‘love’, different from the old love, perhaps, but worse, was it? Anyhow she thought, they are aware of each other; they live in each other; what else is love, she asked, listening to their laughter.