“Thank you, dear, for a very happy drive,” she said.
He laughed awkwardly.
“Odd ideas of happiness some people have,” he commented.
“It gave the children a lot of pleasure,” she said. “And it was a change for Miss Maitland. I have often wished to take her in the car, but I haven’t liked to suggest it.”
“Why not?” he asked.
“I was afraid you might think it a nuisance. It was one of the conditions, you know, that I wasn’t to let her get in your way.”
“Oh, that!” he returned... “Yes. But you’ve taken me rather more literally than I intended. She is a very self-effacing young woman. What on earth does she do with herself? It must be fairly dull for her to be always with the kids. Why don’t you have her down for an hour of an evening? ... I don’t see why she shouldn’t dine with us.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said.
“Just as you like,” he answered. “I only thought it would make it brighter for her.”
She considered the matter for a second or so, not altogether liking the idea, and half wishing that he had not made the suggestion. A third person sharing their quiet evenings would end finally the pleasant companionable home life which had once meant so much to both of them, but which Pamela was forced to recognise was no longer all it had been. Perhaps the addition of a third person would make the increasing strain of these domestic evenings less apparent, might, by introducing a fresh note, rouse them both from the apathy of indifference into which they were drifting. People could have too much of one another’s undiluted society; the presence of a third person, even if sometimes irksome, stimulates the interest afresh. And, as Arnott had remarked, it would certainly be brighter for Blanche.