The shock to his self-esteem was more than to his mouth, and he let her go. She rebuked him in guttural disgust:
“I suppose you think that because I’m an actress you’ve got to be a cad.”
“No, no,” he mumbled. “It’s just because you are you, and because you are so wonderful. Forgive me, won’t you?”
Even as he asked for forgiveness his hand sought her arm again. She slipped away and went into the starlight and sat on the steps.
“You’d better go now,” she said, “and you’d better not come back.”
“All right,” he sighed.
In the silence she heard Bret’s car far away. “Sit down,” she said, “and stay awhile. And smoke!”
She had foreseen Bret arriving as Jim hurried away. She did not like the way it would appear. If Bret’s suspicions were aroused he could not but look uneasily on her, and once he suspected her she felt that she would never forgive him. And it was altogether odious, too, to be included in the list of women whose names were remembered when Jim Greeley’s was mentioned.
And so she conspired with a knave by lies and concealments to keep peace in her husband’s home. Jim lighted a cigar and dropped down on the steps, puffing with ostentation.
Sheila looked out on the innocent seeming of the village and the gentle benignity of the stars, and hated to think how much evil could cloak itself and prosper in these deep shadows and soft lights and peaceful hours.