“He has been making me laugh,” said Yvonne.
“And I cannot?”
“He is a silly boy and you are the venerable Canon Chisely.”
“That’s it,” he said, rather bitterly, releasing her.
Her expression changed. She caught him, as he was turning away, by the lapels of his coat.
“Are you serious, Everard? You are! Forgive me if I have hurt you. I can’t bear to do it. Do you wish me to see less of Mr. Wilmington—really?”
Looking into her eyes he felt ashamed of his pettiness.
“See your friends as much as you like, my child,” he said, with a revulsion of feeling.
The matter was settled for the time being, but thenceforward the even tenor of their life was disturbed occasionally by such outbursts. Once he grew angry. “You have the same smile for any man who speaks to you, Yvonne.” She replied with gentle logic, “That ought to prove that I like all equally.”
“Your husband included.”