He stared at the ground again. “I don’t know that I can get much nearer. She teaches you to—to set snares—to lead the eyes—I don’t think we can talk about it.”
“What am I to do?” She asked him that in a tone so serious that he knew she must be answered.
“Ah,” he said, “I can’t help you, you know. You must fudge it out as best you can. I’m dreadfully sorry—but that’s the truth. You might come to a pass where I could be of use—I hope you won’t—there’s no reason to suppose it. Meantime——”
“He’s kindness itself,” she said, looking beyond him. “He was kind from the very beginning—but—I know that I ought not to have married him.”
“Perhaps,” said Senhouse, “he ought not to have asked you.”
Her eyes fell. “No,” she said, “perhaps not.”
After a pause of some intensity on her part, she broke out. “What you tell me of yourself fills me—makes me excited. It’s glorious. You stand on your feet—you are free as the air—owe nothing—while I—what am I? Not even myself. The dressmaker made me—the policeman guards me. My husband—but if I had no husband, what could I do? Belong to somebody else? If I broke a rule——”
He stopped her with a gesture—a quick jerk of the head. She met his eyes.
“The pity will be if you break a rule without getting full value for the escapade. Don’t do that.”
“I wasn’t thinking—I didn’t mean you to think—” He had frightened her; she was quite breathless.