“Are you very tired, darling?” he asked.
She shook her head, trying to smile, touched, as of late she had been often, by the gentleness of his voice.
“I’m afraid you exhaust yourself. You were the life and spirit of the whole party. Without you we should have been almost dull.”
From force of habit an ironic and obvious repartee came to her lips, but she did not say it. She leaned her head against his shoulder.
“I’m beginning to feel so dreadfully old, Paul.”
“Nonsense! You’ve scarcely reached your prime. You’re looking prettier than ever.”
“D’you think so really? I suppose it’s because you care for me a little still. This morning I thought I looked a hundred and two.”
He did not answer, being more accustomed to debate than to conversation, but pressed his arm a little more closely round her waist.
“Have you never regretted that you married me, Paul? I know I’m not the sort of wife you wanted, and I’ve never brought you any children.”
He was profoundly moved, for his wife had never spoken to him in such a way before. For once the pompousness fell away from his delivery, and he answered in trembling tones, almost whispering.