Fay got up, apparently to rearrange the flowers that stood in a vase on the dressing-table. "Only Stephen Guest," she replied. "He said he'd be here in time for tea."
"Oh!" said Dinah.
It was a disinterested monosyllable, but it did not seem to satisfy Fay. She looked up into the mirror, and met her sister's frank gaze. "There's no reason why he shouldn't come here," she said. "After all, he's a connection of Arthur's, isn't he?"
Dinah dug her hands into the pockets of her severely tailored coat. "Who said he shouldn't come?"
"I know what you think."
"I think you're a blighted ass. Always did."
Fay tried to remember that she was five years older than Dinah, and failed rather miserably. Her lip trembled; she sank back into the chair. "It's no use, Dinah. You don't know what it's like, being married to Arthur. You don't know what it is to care for anyone, and never to see them. It isn't as though Stephen and I as though we… I mean, I wouldn't, and — and of course he wouldn't, but we can at least see each other sometimes."
"Is Arthur being noisome?" inquired Dinah, not much moved by this incoherent speech.
"I suppose he's no worse than usual," Fay replied listlessly. "It's me. My nerves are all to pieces. Probably there are some women who wouldn't mind his temper and the way he blusters and the things he says. You wouldn't. You'd shout back."
"No. Delicately nurtured female. Wouldn't have married him," said Dinah decidedly.