The worst, of course, of keeping harmless vices as tame pets is that for years they only come out when needed and are very pleasant. Then, however, as time makes them stronger, comes the fatal moment when they gain the mastery, turn on their former owner and drag him where they will.
This was such a moment for Geoffrey Alison.
All those nice exciting stories, laudably abstract, bulked suddenly into the real. Here was a girl, crying—pretty too; dam pretty—and everybody knew that when dam pretty girls cried—why, they expected it....
"Zoë," he cried, surging forward, "why do you stand it? Why do you let him treat you like that? You're too good for him; I wish that I had half the trust, the love you give to him. I've done so much for you—the book and everything—and you're so hard to me."
An automatic thrill came in his voice, he leant a little forward; he stretched out timid arms towards her, ready to protect. There was no need to think; it came so easily. He had read the whole scene so often. The blood throbbed in his veins.
"My God!" he said, unthinking what it meant. They always did.
But Helena quite failed to play her part.
She got up hurriedly as his protective arms swayed over her; she backed and stared at him. He wasn't serious? She never knew....
Her tears had ceased. She felt a stupid terror. It was all so vulgar.
He dropped his arms slowly, chilled by her stare, and stood with his mouth ludicrously open.