"But there's nothing to know, dear. We both know that. There's nothing at all. And yet of course I can understand it. So can you. In fact it was you who first explained it to me. If you'd left No. 8 when I did and he'd heard of our engagement afterwards, he wouldn't have thought anything of it. But it was you staying on in the house that did it, and him not knowing of the engagement. He thought you used to come to see me at nights at the studio, me and Agg, and make fun of everything at No. 8—especially of his wife. He's evidently got some such idea in his head, and there's no getting it out again."
"But it's childish."
"I know. However, we've said all this before, haven't we?"
"But the idea's got to be got out of his head again!" said George vigorously—more dictatorially and less persuasively than before.
Marguerite offered no remark.
"And after all," George continued, "he couldn't have been so desperately keen on—your stepmother. When he married her your mother hadn't been dead so very long, had she?"
"No. But he never cared for mother anything like so much as he cared for Mrs. Lobley—at least not as far back as I can remember. It was a different sort of thing altogether. I think he was perfectly mad about Mrs. Lobley. Oh! He stood mother's death much—much better than hers! You've no idea—"
"Oh yes, I have. We know all about that sort of thing," said George the man of the world impatiently.
Marguerite said tenderly:
"It's broken him."