For all her smiling, easy frankness, he knew that there were many doors of her being which she never unlocked for him.

What he saw was so interesting that he could not help being interested about the rest.

Of course many details were open to him.

She was an excellent sportswoman; a rare dancer; there were many men interested in her; she dined out almost every other evening at some social affair blooming belatedly in May (most of her friends were already settled in their country homes, and she was still in town only because her place on Long Island was in disorder due to a two months' delay in the completion of alterations caused by labor difficulties); she had made a study of beetles; she had a tiny vivarium in the apartment and here she would sit studying her pets with an interest and patience not unlike that of old Fabre upon his stony farm.

Also, as Larry learned from her accounts, there was a day nursery on the East Side whose lack of a deficit was due to her.
All in all she was a healthy, normal, intelligent, unself-sacrificing woman who belonged distinctly to her own day; who gave a great deal to life, and who took a great deal from life.
Often Larry wished she would speak of Hunt.