Major Perowne exclaimed:
"Jesus Christ! . . . But he's the most foul-mouthed officer in the general's command. . . ."
"Well," Sylvia said, "if you had married your pure young thing she'd have . . . What is it? . . . cuckolded you within nine months. . . ."
Perowne shuddered a little at the word. He mumbled:
"I don't see. ... It seems to be the other way . . ."
"Oh, no, it isn't," Sylvia said. "Think it over. . . . Morally, you're the husband. . . . Immorally, I should say. . . . Because he's the man I want. . . . He looks ill. . . . Do hospital authorities always tell wives what is the matter with their husbands?"
From his angle in the chair from which he had half-emerged Sylvia seemed to him to be looking at a blank wall.
"I don't see him," Perowne said.
"I can see him in the glass," Sylvia said. "Look! From here you can see him."
Perowne shuddered a little more.