"But I assure you, my dear Corbett, she's simply wooden. Talk of making love, you might as well make love to—to a chair or a cabinet. I can tell you Markham's had a lucky escape."
"I don't imagine that's what put him off," said Sir John. "He knew something."
"What do you suppose he knew?"
"Something the Benhams told them, I fancy. They'd some queer story.
Rather think she ran after Dicky, and Mrs. Benham didn't like it."
"Don't know what she wanted with him. Couldn't have been in love with him, I will say that for her."
"Well, she seems to have preferred their bungalow to her own. Anyhow, they couldn't get her out of it."
"I don't believe that story. We must be fair to the woman, Corbett."
He thought he had really done it very well. Not only had he accounted honourably for his repulse, but he had cleared Elise. And he had cleared himself from the ghastly imputation of middle-age. Repulse or no repulse, he was proud of his spurt of youthful passion.
And in another minute he had persuaded himself that his main motive had been the desire to be fair to Elise.
"H'm! I don't know about being fair," said Sir John. "Anyhow, I congratulate you on your lucky escape."