"He won't be friends. He keeps me off. I never touch his hand, or anything."
A long-dormant jealousy stirred in Caylesham.
"Well, do you want to?" he asked rather brusquely.
"Oh, that's all very well, but imagine living like that! There's nobody to speak to. I'm in disgrace. He doesn't talk about it, but he talks round it, you know. Sometimes he forgets for five minutes. Then I say something cheerful. Then he remembers and—and sends me back to my corner." Her rueful laugh was not far from a sob. "It's awfully humiliating," she ended, "and—and most frightfully dull."
"But how can he——?"
"One good scene would have been so much more endurable. But all day and every day!"
Caylesham was amused, vexed, exasperated.
"But, good heavens, it's not as if it was an ordinary case. Remember what he's done! Why do you stand it?"
"How can I help it? I did the thing, didn't I?"
His voice rose a little in his impatience.