There was no coquetry in her manner, but he looked at her probingly. There was a new intonation in her voice and her face had softened curiously. She looked not unlike a coaxing child . . . not quite. But his mind felt a little dazed. She had been so many different kinds of female since he had seen her, less than an hour ago, sitting under that portrait of her grandmother. . . . But he was not too bemused to ask pointedly:
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes, I do. You see—I haven’t a friend left. I’ll never even like Eustace again. Polly may not be in love with you but she takes no interest in me or any woman when she is concentrating on a man. I’ve barely seen her except at table since she came here, and then she’s almost as silent as myself. I’ll never forgive Elsie. Perhaps you’ve guessed she cares a lot for Eustace?”
“Yes, I think it possible.”
“He should have married her—no doubt will in time. I’ve asked her to stay here and give him a chance to find out his mistake. But she failed me when I needed her most—I’ve been like a lost soul this last week and would have given everything I possessed for one good long talk with her. So, you see——” And her eyes so recently fierce, wicked, arrogant, looked as if pleading to heaven, and she smiled tremulously.
He turned pale and gave the table a sharp rap with his fork. The lemon pie was neglected. “You place me in a beastly position,” he said harshly. “You are asking for friendship, and—well, Eustace is upstairs, wounded——”
She lifted her head, looking less like a madonna than a Carteret. “This is my house and he is my very unwilling guest—unwilling on both sides.”
“He is still your husband.”
“He never was my husband.” She saw where this digression was leading and added hastily: “Not that I want to hear about anything else. I—well, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I say it—I suppose I should have loved you if I could love anyone. But I can’t. That’s final. Your sister and Polly say I’m asexual.”
Dr. Pelham swore fluently and shamelessly.