“No.”
“You went alone? All the time?”
“I've told you I went alone. Do you think I tell you lies, mother?”
“Everybody tells lies somehow,” said Lady Marayne. “Easy lies or stiff ones. Don't FLOURISH, Poff. Don't start saying things like a moral windmill in a whirlwind. It's all a muddle. I suppose every one in London is getting in or out of these entanglements—or something of the sort. And this seems a comparatively slight one. I wish it hadn't happened. They do happen.”
An expression of perplexity came into her face. She looked at him. “Why do you want to throw her over?”
“I WANT to throw her over,” said Benham.
He stood up and went to the hearthrug, and his mother reflected that this was exactly what all men did at just this phase of a discussion. Then things ceased to be sensible.
From overhead he said to her: “I want to get away from this complication, this servitude. I want to do some—some work. I want to get my mind clear and my hands clear. I want to study government and the big business of the world.”
“And she's in the way?”
He assented.