'I daresay,' said Wemyss.
'Used you to travel much?' she asked, still examining the picture, fascinated.
'She refused to.'
'She refused to?' echoed Lucy, turning round.
She looked at him wonderingly. That seemed not only unkind of Vera, but extraordinarily—yes, energetic. The exertion required for refusing Everard something he wanted was surely enormous, was surely greater than any but the most robust-minded wife could embark upon. She had had one small experience of what disappointing him meant in that question of Christmas, and she hadn't been living with him then, and she had had all the nights to recover in; yet the effect of that one experience had been to make her give in at once when next he wanted something, and it was because of last Christmas that she was standing married in that room instead of being still, as both she and her Aunt Dot had intended, six months off it.
'Why did she refuse?' she asked, wondering.
Wemyss didn't answer for a moment. Then he said, 'I was going to say you had better ask her, but you can't very well do that, can you.'
Lucy stood looking at him. 'Yes,' she said, 'she does seem extraordinarily near, doesn't she. This room is full——'
'Now Lucy I'll have none of that. Come here.'
He held out his hand. She crossed over obediently and took it.