He paused now and saw that she was asleep, and he set the little night-light on the table and sat down near her, watching her with an expression of grave enthusiasm on his damaged features. He was not familiar with the stock witticisms concerning the hollowness of marriage and the inevitable disgust which follows possession. Indeed, for all his rascality and guile in business he was a rather unsophisticated fellow. He possessed that infinite patience which is sometimes more effective in retaining love than even courage or folly. Another factor in his favour was his lack of facility for friendship. This worked both ways, for friendship is the secret antagonist of both business and love. He sat there, shading his eyes with his curved palm, watching his wife, thinking of past, present, and future in that confused and gentle abstraction which we call happiness, when she suddenly opened her eyes and looked at him for one brief instant with a blank and vacant gaze. Then she smiled and he bent over her. "Back, Boris?" she murmured chidingly. "My business, darling. I had to see a man." "Always business. I thought you'd never come." "First I had to take that gentleman to the French Pier, for a boat. And then I went to the Olympos Hotel. I think very good business." "Don't talk about business now." "But, my sweetheart, it is all for you. By-and-by you will see." "See what, silly?" she asked, rumpling his hair. "See what? You ask a funny question. I cannot tell you, not yet. But in my mind, I see it."