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Gerald’s voice sounded near. It made no break in their union though Harriett welcomed it, clearing her throat with a businesslike cough.
“Time you changed, Mrs. La Reine,” said Gerald, in a frightened friendly voice.
“Oh, lor, is it?” ... that kindliness was only in Harriett’s voice when she had hurt someone.
... The edge of Gerald’s voice, kind to everyone, would always be broken when he spoke to Harriett. She would always be this young absurd Harriett to him, always. He would go on fastening her boots for her tenderly, and go happily about his hobbies. She would never hear him call her “my dear.” That old-fashioned mock-polite insolence of men ... paterfamilias.