There were other far prettier women present; there were many more notable in the world's eyes. He looked with distaste at his colourless companion—her name would be published in the papers to-morrow and Evelyn's omitted. Yet scarcely one topic of conversation was broached that night at table, of which Mrs. Brand had not some special knowledge—knowledge so eminently marketable that, had it been in her husband's possession, the little West Kensington flat might soon have been exchanged for more congenial quarters.
"Fancy your not admiring her," Miss Beadon rattled on, delighted. "She's certainly very white to-night, and of course her features never were good. But if one's fond of a person their looks make little or no difference to one. Love is the only permanent beauty doctor, I think."
Miss Beadon always gave out her platitudes with the triumph of one throwing a searchlight on a gloomy corner.
"Don't you agree with me?" she asked coquettishly, mentally determining to bombard Meavy with the same phrase later.
"Love's a subject I know nothing of, I'm afraid," said Farquharson impatiently. Yet he paid Dora Beadon the tribute of remembering one of the many hints she had let fall. What she implied was true; he did already owe Evelyn a big debt of gratitude. The hours she had spent in his service, the letters she had written, the advice she had given on social matters, even the parties she had planned, the expense to which she had been put, her sympathy—he had taken it all for granted, as though she were his wife and it his due.
Thinking it over later, he was aghast at his own lack of consideration. Then, characteristically, he made the best of things. Woman was made for man after all. Was it Joubert or some other French philosopher who said one should choose for a wife only such a woman as he would choose for a friend were she a man?
A wife! The word, coming so readily to his lips, startled him. A wife ... a helpmate and companion, the tenderest of mistresses, and best of friends. For a moment he saw a vision, a picture of what his life might be with such a woman....
Such thoughts were not for him. Abruptly leaning out of the motor, he hailed a passer-by, a mere casual acquaintance, who was delighted to be recognized. He even drove on to the man's rooms in an access of quite unusual cordiality.
The little interruption dispersed the vision. But it came back to him, as dreams will, when he turned on the light in his empty room and stood for a moment absently by the table laden with its mass of documents and official pamphlets. It looked bare and cold—not right, somehow.
Wife! He tried to close the door of his heart upon the thought in vain. He said Evelyn's name aloud, and smiled as he re-christened her.