“You don’t understand, Nickie. He’s a wonderful man, so honorable—”
“He’s not honorable if he goes out with you behind his wife’s back.”
“How can he help it, when she’s turned her back on him for good? She’s horrible to him. Nobody else would have put up with her as he has. He is honorable, Nickie; he’s a gentleman through and through. He’s so lonely—you don’t know what that is, but I do. He’s longing and longing for women to be nice and friendly to him. If his wife was ever halfway decent to him—”
She stopped short, because the doorbell had rung.
“There he is,” she said. “Nickie, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I wish you’d see him and talk to him. Then you’d understand. Open the door and talk to him while I’m getting ready.”
Nickie hesitated for a moment.
“All right!” she said, then. “I’ll talk to him!”
Without even troubling to smooth her unruly hair, off she went, down the passage. In a moment she was back.
“Pem,” she cried, “Arthur Caswell is here!”
They stared at each other in a sort of dismay, both speechless for a time.