"Oh, yes, as the clerk hates his desk or a girl her practising. The duties of life, you know."
She had received him in an exuberance of spirits, much as though she were the school-girl she spoke of and he a pleasant visitor from the outside world. When she reproached him for not having come before, it was only evidence of her pleasure that he had come now; in the days when he saw her often and was always at her call, there had been no such joy as this. Yet he had hesitated to add one more item to the score of simple perversity, of not wanting when you can have and vice versâ; what she said about the atmosphere she lived in showed him that his hesitation had been right.
"And I know you didn't want to come," she went on. "You've only come out of politeness, no, I mean out of kindness."
"There was an old invitation. An old promise too? Wasn't there?"
"One never withdrawn, the other terribly broken," she laughed. "You've heard of our difference with poor Dick Benyon?"
"Of your husband's?" May smiled slightly. "Yes, I have. Quisanté's quite right now, you know; the only pity is that he didn't see it sooner."
"Dick's not so charitable as you. He suspects our sincerity."
It was on the tip of his tongue to say again "Your husband's?" but looking at her he found her eyes full of fun, and began to laugh himself.
"I find it absolutely the only way," May explained. "I can't draw distinctions. Mrs. Baxter, now, says 'Our Cathedral' but 'My drawing-room.' Amy Benyon says 'Our relations,' when she means hers and 'Dick's relations' when she means his. I've quite given up the attempt to discriminate; a thorough-going identification of husband and wife is the only thing. The We matrimonial must be as universal as the We editorial."
"The theory is far-reaching, if you apply it to qualities."