Wilfred sighed, and made a feeble gesture.
“She was trying to make us feel cheap!” said Frances Mary.
“You are quite wrong,” he said quickly. “Not until the very end, and you forced that on her.”
“You understand her of course,” she said.
Wilfred experienced a sort of collapse. Of what use this endless struggle? No advance was possible. And how tired he was! Was it his fault? Why did the onus invariably fall upon him? Oh, to be alone and at peace, away from the pulling of all these hands, big and little! To be at sea with men for his shipmates . . . !
“Let’s go,” said Frances Mary, bleakly. “We have just time to catch the 5:23.”
Wilfred roused himself automatically. “No hurry,” he said. “We’re not going on the 5:23. . . . It would be too ridiculous to let this accident spoil our day; to lie down under it! Just for that, we’re going to make a night of it now. We’re going to walk down the avenue, looking in all the shop windows. We’re going to Mouquin’s to dinner, and afterwards to a play. We can send a telegram to nurse. . . .”
Frances Mary shook her head. “It would be silly to spend the money. I shouldn’t enjoy it now. Come on. . . .”
“You’ve damned well got to enjoy it!” said Wilfred. “We’re not going home with our tails between our legs. . . .”
“The thought of those people. . . .”