“I’m afraid your married life is not all it should be. Whose fault?”
“Mine,” he said.
She told him that if he weren’t so beastly timid, she would get down to the secret of the trouble.
“I’d like to help,” she said.
“You’re helping,” he told her, and then something seemed to warn him that this was not playing the game by Joyce, and that he was losing hold of the loyalties to which his soul was pledged. Janet was helping him too much. In a little while he might not be able to live without her help, her sympathy, her understanding, her comradeship. A sudden movement he made, drawing back from her a little, surprised her.
“What’s the matter, Faithful?”
“I’d better go. After all, it’s getting late.”
But it was only ten o’clock, and not too late for a visit from Christy. The maid had let him into the hall, and they hadn’t heard him enter, and were not aware of him until he came into the room.
“Hullo!” he said. “Where’s all the party?”
“Faithful broke it up, with violence.”