“How 'decent' do you wish me to be?” she inquired.
“How decent?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
He regarded her uneasily, took the cocktail which the maid offered him, drank it, and laid down the glass.
He had had before, in the presence of his wife, this vague feeling of having passed boundaries invisible to him. In her eyes was a curious smile that lacked mirth, in her voice a dispassionate note that added to his bewilderment.
“What do you mean, Honora?”
“I know it's too much to expect of a man to be as solicitous about his wife as he is about his business,” she replied. “Otherwise he would hesitate before he threw her into the arms of Mr. Trixton Brent. I warn you that he is very attractive to women.”
“Hang it,” said Howard, “I can't see what you're driving at. I'm not throwing you into his arms. I'm merely asking you to be friendly with him. It means a good deal to me—to both of us. And besides, you can take care of yourself. You're not the sort of woman to play the fool.”
“One never can tell,” said Honora, “what may happen. Suppose I fell in love with him?”
“Don't talk nonsense,” he said.