“Oh, we can take on Ulster afterwards,” said James reassuringly. “Now we’ll see what submarines can do; ’member the Japs?”
“Winn,” said Lady Staines, “before you’re off, say good-by to your wife.”
Winn frowned, and then he said, “All right, Mother,” and left them.
It was a very still evening, the scent of new mown hay and the mysterious sweetness of the starry white tobacco plant haunted the delicate air.
Winn found Estelle lying down by the open window. He had not been in her room for some time. He sat down by the sofa, and fingered the tassels at her waist.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked coldly.
He had only himself to thank that she was cold — he knew that. He saw so plainly now, all the mistakes he’d made, that the ones Estelle had made, receded into the distance. He’d never been gentle to her. Even when he thought he loved her, he wasn’t really gentle.
Gentleness was superlative kindness, and no woman who had not had just that sort of kindness from the man she married, could help being rather nasty. He had owed it to Estelle — no matter whether she told him the truth or not.
“Look here, Estelle,” he began. “I want our boy to go to Charterhouse.”
It wasn’t exactly what he meant to say, but it was something; he had never called Peter “our boy” before. Estelle did not notice it.