Patricia fell into the trap. "Did I shilly-shally? How utterly abominable of me. I apologize. But I really and truly brought in the word as soon as I decently could."
"Don't reproach yourself with an excess of consideration. Does Gareth know you've come on this mission?"
"Heavens, no! Wouldn't he be wanting to shield you from me, and shield me from you, and shield everybody all round—except himself ... the darling!"
Kathleen smiled. "In my very presence?"
"Certainly. I'm not ashamed of loving the man. Mrs. Temple—-will you divorce him—if we give you cause?"
"If you so adore him, why ... bother about a divorce?"
"I know what you mean," said Patricia slowly; "and I wouldn't be afraid for myself. The marriage service is a mere trifle to me—may the daughter of a good mother be forgiven for saying so. But Gareth is not the right type of man for an unorthodox love-affair. He would be worrying himself that I was worrying over all the slights and snubs that didn't matter.... And we'd both end by worrying together. I've thought it all out."
"I'm sure you have," said Kathleen politely.
"Isn't all this scathing irony rather unnecessary? I could be marvellously witty and flippant if I chose to exert my talents that way. But I had a sort of feeling that an interview between us two ought to be conducted in a more reverent spirit."
The other shrugged her shoulders. "Oh—reverent!" She leant back her head against the worn antimacassar, and half closed her eyes. Patricia, watching her, thought in a spasm of generous admiration, how handsome she was, with her aquiline features and sombre colouring and bent weary mouth—"Like an Indian brave...."