"If I were only sure that it was well I was letting alone."
"Can't be sure of anything. Give it the benefit of the doubt."
"Yes—but if you were I?"
"If I were you I should say nothing."
"That only means that I should say nothing if I were you. But I'm not."
"Be thankful, my dear, at any rate, for that."
He took up a book, The Search for Stellar Parallaxes, a book that he understood and that his wife could not understand. That book was the sole refuge open to him when pressed for an opinion. He knew that, when she saw him reading it, she would realise that he was her intellectual master.
The front doorbell announced the arrival of another caller.
She went away, wondering, as he meant she should, whether he were so very undecided, after all. Certainly his indecisions closed a subject more effectually than other people's verdicts.
She found Anne in the empty, half-dark drawing-room waiting for her. She had chosen the darkest corner, and the darkest hour.