“Yes, that’s true,” she said, “and it adds to one’s pleasure. But it doesn’t add to one’s happiness, not one jot. I’m just as capable of being unhappy now as ever I was. Not that I am unhappy in the least.”
Jim nodded sympathetically.
“You look rather worried,” he said. “So you’ve been having a bit of a turn-up with Claude. That’s the worst of being married; if I have a shindy with anyone I walk away, and unless the other fellow follows, the shindy stops. But you can’t walk away from your husband.”
Dora was silent a moment, considering whether she should talk to her brother about these things which troubled her or not. She had tried to find a solution for them by herself, but had been unable, and she had a great opinion of his practical shrewdness. It was not likely that he would suggest anything fine or altruistic because he was not of that particular build, but he might be able to suggest something.
“Yes, we’ve been having a bit of a turn-up, as you call it,” she said. “That doesn’t matter so much; but what bothers me rather is our totally different way of looking at things. I’m awfully fond of Dad, I am really, but it would be childish if I pretended that I don’t see—well—humorous things about him. You see, one has either to be amused by such things—I only learned that yesterday from Uncle Alf—or else take them tragically. At Venice I took them tragically. I thought it dreadful that he liked to see the sugar factory better than anything else. And if it isn’t dreadful, it’s got to be funny: it’s either funny or vulgar. There’s nothing else for it to be. And then Claude—oh, dear! I told him he was at liberty to laugh at you and mother as much as he chose, but he didn’t appear to want to. I don’t think he’s got any sense of humour: there are heaps and heaps of ridiculous things about you both.”
“Good gracious! You never thought he had any sense of humour, did you?” asked Jim earnestly.
“I don’t know. I don’t think I thought about it at all. And that’s not the worst.”
Jim put his head on one side, and Dora’s estimate of his shrewdness was justified.
“Do you mean that you are beginning to mind about his being—er—not quite——?” he asked delicately.
Dora nodded.