For the life of her, she could not remember now why she had married him. That was all unreal, an engulfed past. At the time he had seemed rather a smoldering, Byronic sort of person; and, as her mother had pointed out, a girl must get married. Dangerous thoughts again, moving through her mind like satyrs.
Once again Hubert Fane cleared his throat.
"My dear," he said with solicitude, "you are not well. This heat is too much for you."
Vicky stopped by the fireplace, and began to laugh hysterically. Hubert shushed her.
"However, since we must pursue this matter, do you mind if I touch on a rather delicate subject?"
"Can you think of any subject more delicate," said Vicky, "than the one we've been talking about?"
"I see no reason," said Hubert, "why this regrettable affair should mar our lives—"
"When every ring at the door-bell may mean—"
Uncle Hubert considered this.
"No, I do not think so. The boy planned with his usual care and thoroughness. But as I was saying. The older you grow, my dear, the more you will come to realize that the secret of a successful life lies in compromise."