He burst into vehement speech, and again she was oddly reminded of Sir Geoffrey, who would sit silent, impassive, if he chanced to be deeply moved, and then suddenly explode.
“At the back of my mind, at the bottom of my heart, I have always feared that this sad day might dawn. And I knew what bitter strife would mean to you, who have always loved peace. It does pulverise me that you should be brought into this misery.”
He covered his face with his hands. Lady Pomfret gave him time. Presently she went on:
“If I obey Sir Geoffrey literally, I am to try to make you see yourself as I see you.”
He looked up, puzzled at the delicate irony of her tone. She faltered a little.
“It’s not an easy task, Ben, for a woman who loves her husband, a woman who—who shrinks from exalting another man at his expense.”
“Don’t attempt it, my lady!”
“Ah! But I must. I see you so clearly this morning. I see you, not as you sit there, worn and sad, but as I saw you first when Sir Geoffrey came courting me. What a handsome fellow you were, Ben, in those far off days.”
Unconsciously, Fishpingle sat more upright. He lifted his head. For a moment youth came back to him. Lady Pomfret continued:
“Even then I used to wonder at your devotion to Sir Geoffrey. I have gone on wondering ever since, although custom tempered that wonder. It amazed me, I remember, that you didn’t marry. It amazes me still.” As he remained silent, avoiding her eyes, she went on gently: “I understand. There must have been somebody, some girl whom you cared for deeply, and who didn’t return your love.”