This was decidedly crushing, but I persevered: "But it concerns you, sweetheart." "Does it?" As Fay still did not ask what the idea was, I thought I had better volunteer the information. "She thinks you look a little pale and tired and out-of-sorts, and that a change would do you good," I began. "I am quite all right, thank you. I don't require any doing good at all--in fact, I'm not taking any at present. And as for being pale, the same Providence that painted Annabel's cheeks pink painted mine white, and so we must both stick to the colour ordained for us." It was uphill work, but I struggled on. I wouldn't for the world have let Fay see how much she was hurting me: it would have pained her tender heart to know she was giving pain; and as long as she could be spared suffering, I was ready to take her share as well as my own. "But the spring is a trying time of the year for everybody," I feebly urged. "I thought the spring in England was considered such a top-hole sort of affair: one of the seven wonders of the world. The poets simply spread themselves over it." "Well, darling, so it is in a way: but I think when the poets spread themselves they refer to the later spring, and not to February and March. Annabel always trembles before the East wind then, as you know." "But nobody could accuse Annabel of being a poet." This was undeniable, but it didn't help on the conversation. So I made a fresh start. "She may not be a poet, but she is a very sensible woman, and very devoted to you, sweetheart; and she thinks that you are looking listless and tired and in need of a change. So she suggests that she and I should take you to the South of France for Lent and Easter." I was determined to give my sister her full share of credit in this matter; all the more so that I suffered some compunction for my summary treatment of her at Christmas. Fay's pretty mouth began to pout. "Not for Easter, Reggie; I couldn't possibly go away for Easter. Frank and I and the Loxleys are getting up a play here for Easter week, to be performed in the village hall." "I knew nothing of that. You never told me anything about it," I said in some surprise. "Why should I? You don't care a bit about theatricals, Reggie, or show the slightest interest in them." "Yes, I do. I am interested in anything that interests my wife, as every good husband should be." "Oh, Reggie, don't talk flapdoodle to me! It is ridiculous to think you feel a thing simply because you think you ought to feel it. You assume that because you ought to be interested in what interests me, you are interested in it: but you really aren't in the least. I don't say that it wouldn't be nice if we were both interested in the same things. But if we aren't, it doesn't make it any nicer to pretend that we are."