He knew that his wife liked Mark, if only because he was always ready to let her talk to him in low-voiced, womanly sympathy of the otherwise unmentioned Mrs. Easter. Lady Rossiter often said that, but for her, the tragedy of Mark's life would have been left to corrode in silent bitterness.
Perhaps it was true.
Julian knew that to his wife was it frequently given to rush in where others might not only hesitate, but positively refuse, to tread, and he knew that Mark's simple gratitude for her interest in him was as genuine as it was outspoken.
He wondered, sometimes, at that very simplicity, in a man of acute sympathies and unfailing intuition such as Mark again and again proved himself to possess in almost every relation into which he entered. There were even times when he asked himself, in utter perplexity, whether Mark could himself be as sensitive as his quickness of perception for sensitiveness in others appeared to denote.
He thought that he had seldom seen Edna look more relieved than at the dissipation of the constraint amongst her tea-party, caused by Mark's entrance.
"Will you ring for tea, Mark?" she asked smilingly. She had the trick, not uncommon to a certain type of woman, of assuming a more proprietary tone and manner when speaking to a man not her husband.
Julian's restless and observant mind almost automatically registered the subconscious irritation instantly produced in the other two women.
Miss Farmer, turning to young Cooper, asked him if he would be so very kind as to reach her little bag, which contained a handkerchief.
Miss Sandiloe, more actively resentful, as well as far more self-confident in the youthful security of possessing good looks and an evident admirer in the shape of Cooper, was bolder.
"Oh, Mr. Easter, I'm awfully glad you're here. I mean, really I am. I've got some killing things to tell you, about the Coll. We've got some freaks there now, really we have."