"Mr. Hadley, you've known my husband a number of years. Was he always as he is now?"
"In what way do you mean?"
"Was he always as dictatorial, as self-centred and self-willed?"
Hadley laughed.
"Yes, Bob was always inclined that way, and it seems to have grown on him as he has grown older."
There was still another question hovering on the young wife's lips. Dare she ask it? Why not? This friend was so loyal, so considerate, that he would understand. If it worried her at all, it was because her happiness, the future of her unborn children, if she had any, might be at stake. At last, with an effort, she summoned up courage and ventured to give expression to what was on her mind.
"Mr. Hadley, there's something else. I've intended to ask you for a long time—" Hesitating, she said: "I've quite forgotten what it was—"
He looked at her keenly. He had observed for some time that things were not quite as they should be in his friend's home. Stafford seemed to be more indifferent to his wife, he stayed out more at nights; she, on her side, appeared to be continually on the defensive, as if there was constant friction. But by no outward sign could she have guessed that he gauged the situation. Carelessly he said:
"Is it something about Bob?"
Thus encouraged, she spoke up frankly, just as if she were talking to an elder brother: