Many modern wives, again, might have been tiresome about an amende honourable indeed but so obviously planned. Not Helena, however. She leapt to get the circular, all thrilled excitement and babbling gratitude.
Hubert ran a proud finger down the list. "Hullo," he said in unflattering surprise. "They've got some quite good men."
He had always utterly ignored her ventures in self-education. He did not, for one thing, approve of them; and he had vaguely thought they were connected with the parish church, Pleasant Sunday Evenings, and everything like that.
"I'm so glad you're pleased," she put in, quite without irony.
"That's the one we'll do together," he said, and read out—"'January 29: Art as a Religion.—G. K. Shaw.' And only ten days off, too!"
It was the best, far, on the list; he would perhaps be called on, as a local author, to make some remarks; and he might meet the lecturer....
"Oh, but how splendid!" she cried, duly grateful. "Just the very one I wanted you to come to. You really are a dear! And that's a late one too, at eight o'clock, because the lecturer objected, so your old work won't suffer after all!"
She talked of it for days to come, what great fun it would be, till Hubert felt even more guilty. He had never realised how much she felt the fact of his not coming. He had not ever heard, you see, dear Mrs. Boyd say: "What! No husband again? I don't think you keep him in at all good order; does she, Kenneth?"—as one who should say, "You have no power over him, at all!" He did not guess how lonely she had felt sometimes when Geoffrey Alison could not escort her. Still he saw her great keenness now and told himself he would have gone to these lectures before—if only he had known they were not University Extension.
He was distinctly flattered by the way she harped upon this small concession. Little things like that had a curious power of making Hubert Brett well satisfied with life.
She could see that afresh, six mornings later.