“Accept you the same way? How can I! There is nothing in my life to compare in any way with the tragedy of your—”
She paused, as though unwilling to finish the sentence. He waited patiently, however, for her to proceed.
“Of my what?”
Philippa compromised.
“Lethargy,” she pronounced triumphantly.
“An excellent word,” he murmured.
“It is too mild a one, but you are my husband,” she remarked.
“That reminds me,” he said quietly. “You are my wife.”
“I know it,” she admitted, “but I am also a woman, and there are limits to my endurance. If you can give me no explanation of your behaviour, Henry, if you really have no intention of changing it, then there is only one course left open for me.”
“That sounds rather alarming—what is it?” he demanded.