He regarded her. "Would you have done that?" he would know.
Under his fond look, she softened, took his homage, accepted everything, was silent.
"Certainly not," he said. "Lulu's tastes are not fine like yours. I should never think of you as sisters."
"She's awfully good," Ina said feebly. Fifteen years of married life behind her—but this was sweet and she could not resist.
"She has excellent qualities." He admitted it. "But look at the position she's in—married to a man who tells her he has another wife in order to get free. Now, no really nice woman—"
"No really nice man—" Ina did say that much.
"Ah," said Dwight, "but you could never be in such a position. No, no. Lulu is sadly lacking somewhere."
Ina sighed, threw back her head, caught her lower lip with her upper, as might be in a hem. "What if it was Di?" she supposed.
"Di!" Dwight's look rebuked his wife. "Di," he said, "was born with ladylike feelings."
It was not yet ten o'clock. Bobby Larkin was permitted to stay until ten. From the veranda came the indistinguishable murmur of those young voices.