"Well, let's have your expurgated version of it."
"I went there for Christmas with Lexie. And the Honorable Mrs. Pardiston, his aunt, was there too. We went to church, and there was a Christmas tree and a children's party. It was all quite proper and perfectly glorious. Lord Chalfont wouldn't do anything that was underhand."
"Of course you're bound to say that for your own sake. Look here, Maggy, you needn't tell me lies. I won't swallow them. You know perfectly well that if I'd known he'd asked you down to his rotten place I'd have stopped your going."
"I did think of that, Fred," she admitted; "but then I knew there was no harm in it, and if I hadn't gone Lexie wouldn't have been able to, either; and I wasn't looking forward to spending Christmas alone here. No flesh and blood girl could resist a square invitation like that. Why didn't you take me abroad with you if you couldn't trust me? I haven't asked you questions about where you've been or what you did while you were away. Besides, if it comes to that, husbands and wives often pay visits apart."
"Do you consider yourself particularly qualified to give an opinion about the habits of married people?" he sneered.
"That's a caddish thing to fling in my face," she cried indignantly.
Woolf flinched a little under her flashing eyes.
"This quarrel's getting vulgar," he retorted uneasily.
"It's of your making. Look me in the face, Fred, and you'll see I couldn't tell you a lie. Look at me, please."
He did so reluctantly.