" She hesitated in a funny, bashful manner which
roused my interest. Then:
"Sailors I believe are very susceptible," she added with forced
assurance.
I burst into a laugh which only increased the coldness of her observing
stare.
"They are. Immensely! Hopelessly! My dear Mrs. Fyne, you had better
give it up! It only makes your husband miserable."
"And I am quite miserable too. It is really our first difference . . . "
"Regarding Miss de Barral?" I asked.
"Regarding everything. It's really intolerable that this girl should be
the occasion. I think he really ought to give way."
She turned her chair round a little and picking up the book I had been
reading in the morning began to turn the leaves absently.
Her eyes being off me, I felt I could allow myself to leave the room. Its
atmosphere had become hopeless for little Fyne's domestic peace. You may
smile. But to the solemn all things are solemn. I had enough sagacity
to understand that.
I slipped out into the porch. The dog was slumbering at Fyne's feet. The
muscular little man leaning on his elbow and gazing over the fields
presented a forlorn figure.
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