He laid down his pen. "Not if you wish to talk to me."
This reply, though possibly intended to be encouraging, had the effect of making Helen feel a very long way away from him. She moved across the room to a chair by the window, and sat down in it. "It's such a long time since we talked together - really talked - that I seem to have forgotten how," she said, trying to speak lightly.
His face hardened. "Yes."
She realised that hers had been an unfortunate remark. She said, not looking at him: "We - we ought to talk this thing over, don't you think? It concerns us both, doesn't it?"
"Certainly. What do you want to say?"
She tried to formulate sentences in her brain; he neither moved nor spoke, but sat watching her. Suddenly she raised her eyes, and said abruptly: "Why did you come home like that? So unexpectedly, and without a word to me?"
"I thought, Helen, that you already knew the answer to that question."
"I? How could I know?"
"You informed me that you did. You said that I had come home to spy on you."
She flushed. "I didn't mean it. I was upset."