“At any rate, they speak nicely of each other to us,” I said.
Falkenberg went on with his work.
I thought over the whole thing again.
“Well, perhaps you may be right as far as that goes, that it's not the wedded life dreamers have dreamed of, still....”
But it was no good talking to Falkenberg in that style; he understood never a word.
When we stopped work at noon, I took up the talk again.
“Didn't you say once if he wasn't decent to her there'd be trouble?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Well, there hasn't been trouble.”
“Did I ever say he wasn't decent to her?” said Falkenberg irritably. “No, but they're sick and wearied of each other—that's what it is. When one comes in, the other goes out. Whenever he starts talking of anything out in the kitchen, her eyes go all dead and dull, and she doesn't listen.”