He took out his pipe, and she fetched her work-basket from the back of the sofa. Nothing could have looked more domestic than the two of them sitting each side of the fire, he smoking, she darning, both silent. But the unreality of it vexed him this afternoon. He could not play the childish game he had sometimes played, of pretending they were married, and being content. “When I became a man I put away childish things....” He wanted to have the power to go over to her as she sat absorbed in her work, turn up her face and kiss her—or else pick her off the chair and set her on his knee....
“Stella,” he said gruffly.
“Well?”
“I want to speak to you.”
“What is it?”
“Well ... our friendship isn’t the same as it used to be.”
He would be furious if she contradicted him—or if she said ‘Oh, really? I haven’t noticed anything.’ But she said at once—
“I know it isn’t.”
“And what do you put that down to?”
She hedged for the first time.