His wife directed a meaning glance towards his glass and smiled dryly. Hallam took up the challenge.
“I think it is sometimes the woman who backs an outsider,” he said. “But a light hand on the rein brings many a doubtful mount past the winning post.”
“You’ve got the fever all right,” Jim returned. “I know all about that. I had it in its most acute form.”
“Never mind that old complaint,” Rose said soothingly. “You are quite cured now.”
“That’s all you know about it,” he replied almost aggressively. “That fever is recurrent. Every married man who has ever experienced it knows that the germ once there lies latent for all time. You hear of married people drifting apart... Well, they do, you know—often; but generally they drift back again—or want to. It’s usage. You get fed up—like you get fed up with saying your prayers every night.”—Young John pricked up his ears and became interested in the talk.—“You leave ’em off. Well, some time or other you come back to them. You want to come back to them. Prayer and love—they’re pretty much about on a par.”
John’s interest waned. He helped himself to fruit and disregarded the company.
“You are getting somewhat beyond my depths,” the best man remarked. “These things haven’t come my way.”
“They will,” Jim ventured to predict.
The best man looked at the bride and laughed.
“I hope so,” he answered gallantly; and introduced, with the ease of the man of the world, a lighter note into the talk.