"And I know you didn't want to come," she went on. "You've only come out of politeness, no, I mean out of kindness." "There was an old invitation. An old promise too? Wasn't there?" "One never withdrawn, the other terribly broken," she laughed. "You've heard of our difference with poor Dick Benyon?" "Of your husband's?" May smiled slightly. "Yes, I have. Quisante's quite right now, you know; the only pity is that he didn't see it sooner." "Dick's not so charitable as you. He suspects our sincerity." It was on the tip of his tongue to say again "Your husband's?" but looking at her he found her eyes full of fun, and began to laugh himself. "I find it absolutely the only way," May explained. "I can't draw distinctions. Mrs. Baxter, now, says 'Our Cathedral' but 'My drawing-room.' Amy Benyon says 'Our relations,' when she means hers and 'Dick's relations' when she means his. I've quite given up the attempt to discriminate; a thorough-going identification of husband and wife is the only thing. The We matrimonial must be as universal as the We editorial." "The theory is far-reaching, if you apply it to qualities." "Yes, I don't quite know how far." "Alliance becomes union, and union leads to fusion?" "And fusion leads where?" He escaped answering or covered inability to answer with a shrug. "I'm sorry you don't please Mr. Blair," she said. "Really I don't think I care so very much. I used to be ambitious, but----" "Oh, don't tell me it's not worth while being ambitious. It's all I've got." She had spoken on a hasty unthinking impulse; she grew a little red and laughed rather nervously when she found what she had said. His face did not change, his voice was quite unmoved, as he said, smiling, "In that case, no doubt, it is worth while." She wanted to applaud his excellent manners; at the same time they annoyed her rather. She had been indiscreet no doubt, but her indiscretion might, if he had liked, have led the way to matters of interest, to that opening of the heart to somebody for which she was pining. His polite care not to embarrass her shut the door. "I mean, just now," she resumed, "while our seat's so shaky, you know." "Ah, yes," said he half-absently. She leant back in her chair and looked at him. "I think," she said, "you look as if you did care, about Mr. Blair or about something else. I wanted to tell you that I don't agree in the least with the criticisms on you." She leant forward, asking in a lower voice, "Do they hurt you?" "Not much. A man likes to succeed, but there are things I like better." "Yes. Well, there's nothing we--_we_--like better, Mr. Marchmont." He rose and stood on the hearth; her eyes were upturned to his in a steady gaze. "You were always very frank, weren't you?" he asked, looking down and smiling. "Well, you've known what you say for a long while, haven't you?"