She flushed a little. “I just had to say it. I was so entirely with you. I always am. And yet, he is my husband.”
“You don’t think me weak and ineffectual?” He looked out over the rain-bleared golf-course, at the dark row of pines in the distance. “You used to lay so much stress on strength, on achievement. You quite frightened me.”
“Don’t!” she said quickly. “Sometimes one may mistake hardness for strength. Don’t”—pitifully—“don’t rub it in, Colin.” Her eyes suddenly filled with tears.
“Oh, my dear!”—the caress seemed to slip out involuntarily—“I didn’t mean to do that.... And though I wanted you to say I wasn’t, I am weak—pitifully weak.... I want a woman’s good opinion, a woman’s approval. I want someone to believe in me, to urge me on ... that’s weak, isn’t it?”
“Only according to Gilbert’s creed,” she said softly. “You and I have a different one.”
He got up and paced the verandah.
“It would be happier for you if you could adopt his creed—and you’re very young. You want happiness?”
“Badly.”
“I wish—I could see you happy. The Bible says, ‘the prayer of the righteous man availeth much,’ but I can’t pray.”