"If it comes to duties, your husband sets the example; he hasn't moved from the club window to-day."
"Oh!" she exclaimed shortly, "I never asked you to imitate my husband."
Sam ceased rowing and looked up; he was familiar with the tone, but had never heard it so emphasised before.
"Look here," he said; "something's wrong, that's plain. It's a rude question, but—does he neglect you?"
She laughed with some bitterness, and perhaps with a touch of self-contempt.
"You are right; it is a rude question: but—he does not."
There was a moment's silence, and then she added—
"So it's useless, is it not, to wish that he would?"
The blood about Sam's heart stood still. Were the words a confession or a sneer. Did they refer to her or to him? He would have given worlds to know, but her tone disclosed nothing.
"You mean—?"