Sam put a hand upon her shoulder.
“Be sensible and do not be offended,” he went on: “take the fellow for what he is and be glad for him. He hurts little and cheers a lot. He could make a convincing argument in favour of civilisation’s return to cannibalism, but really, you know, he spends most of his time thinking and writing of washing machines and ladies’ hats and liver pills, and most of his eloquence after all only comes down to ‘Send for catalogue, Department K’ in the end.”
Sue’s voice was colourless with passion when she replied.
“This is unbearable. Why did you bring the fellow here?”
Sam sat down and picked up his book. In his impatience he lied to her for the first time since their marriage.
“First, because I like him and second, because I wanted to see if I couldn’t produce a man who could outsentimentalise your socialist friends,” he said quietly.
Sue turned and walked out of the room. In a way the action was final and marked the end of understanding between them. Putting down his book Sam watched her go and some feeling he had kept for her and that had differentiated her from all other women died in him as the door closed between them. Throwing the book aside he sprang to his feet and stood looking at the door.
“The old goodfellowship appeal is dead,” he thought. “From now on we will have to explain and apologise like two strangers. No more taking each other for granted.”
Turning out the light he sat again before the fire to think his way through the situation that faced him. He had no thought that she would return. That last shot of his own had crushed the possibility of that.
The fire was getting low in the grate and he did not renew it. He looked past it toward the darkened windows and heard the hum of motor cars along the boulevard below. Again he was the boy of Caxton hungrily seeking an end in life. The flushed face of the woman in the theatre danced before his eyes. He remembered with shame how he had, a few days before, stood in a doorway and followed with his eyes the figure of a woman who had lifted her eyes to him as they passed in the street. He wished that he might go out of the house for a walk with John Telfer and have his mind filled with eloquence of the standing corn, or sit at the feet of Janet Eberly as she talked of books and of life. He got up and turning on the lights began preparing for bed.