"That means that I shan't oppose you any more?"
"Our tastes and views will grow into harmony, I hope."
"That mine will grow into harmony with yours?"
He smiled, though grimly. Few men really mind being accused of despotism, since it savours of power. "Is that such a terrible thing to happen to my wife?"
"We're not happy, Cyril."
"Marriage wasn't instituted for the sole purpose of enabling people to enjoy themselves."
"Oh, I don't know what it was instituted for!"
"You can look in your Prayer Book."
Her chin rested on her hands, her white sharp elbows on her knee. The tall, strong, self-reliant man looked at her frail beauty. He was not without love, not without pity, but entirely without comprehension—nor would comprehension have meant pardon. Her implied claim clashed both with his instinct and with his convictions. The love and pity were not of a quality to sustain the shock.
"I wish you'd go and see Attlebury," he went on. Attlebury was, as it were, the keeper of his conscience, an eminent clergyman of extreme High Church views.