'Using primary argument,' she said concisely, 'and meeting opinion with opinion, I contend that you are mistaken. I will be perfectly frank with you, Captain Huston, because you have a certain claim upon my honesty. In some ways Alice is a weak woman. It has been her misfortune to be brought up and launched upon society as a beauty; a man who marries such a woman is assuming a responsibility which demands special qualifications. Judging from what I have observed, I am very much afraid that you possess these qualifications in but a small degree. Do you follow me?'
The man smiled in an awkward way.
'Yes. You were going to say, "I told you so."'
'That,' returned the widow, 'is a remark I never make, because it is profitless. Moreover, it would not be true, because I never told you so. Circumstances have in a measure been against you. You could scarcely have chosen a more dangerous part of the world in which to begin your married life than Ceylon. As it happens, you did not choose, but it was forced upon you. In England we live differently. A young married woman is thrown more exclusively upon the society of her husband; there is less temptation. You will find it less difficult...'
'Is married life to be described as a difficulty?' he interrupted.
Mr. Wylie did not reply at once. She sat with placidly crossed hands gazing into the fire. There was a slight tension in the lines of her mouth.
'Life,' she replied, 'in any form, in any sphere, in any circumstances, is a difficulty.'
After a moment she resumed in a more practical tone:
'Again, Alice is scarcely the woman to make a soldier's wife in times of peace. War ... would bring out her good points.'
Huston moved restlessly. Mrs. Wylie turned her soft gray eyes towards his face, and across her sympathetic features there passed an expression of real pain. She had divined his next words before his lips framed them.