"Oh, all right! Very well! Do as you like," said Harry. "It seems a curious way to treat a guest: to go out when you expect him, and then the moment you come in to make an excuse to leave him alone again. But please yourself!" He took up his book and turned away. Valentia went into the house, to her room, and sat down opposite the looking-glass with a sigh. It was at moments like these that she sometimes thought, with a slight reaction, of Romer. Romer was never capricious, never irritable, never trying. It was true that he rarely answered her except in monosyllables, but yet she knew that he delighted in and tacitly encouraged her fluency. He did not respond to every idea she expressed as Harry did (when Harry was in a good temper), but she knew she had no better audience. His extreme quietness might be admitted, occasionally, to cast a slight gloom, but negatively what enormous advantages his silence had! Romer never scolded, never laid down the law; never thought it necessary to give her long, minute, detailed accounts of his impressions of art, or life, or literature; never insisted on pointing out, as if it were a matter of life and death, precisely where he differed in his opinions of a book, a play, or an incident, from the criticisms in the daily papers. Nor did he refer to some annoying past incident half a dozen times a day as a sealed subject. He had other qualities. He could take tickets, he could sign cheques (and even seemed to like doing it). He could see about things. He wasn't selfish. Yes, Valentia thought, when she saw Harry at his worst, that perhaps she didn't really quite appreciate her husband. How irritating Harry would have been in that capacity! Daphne came in, and Valentia went on, as usual, with her thoughts aloud. "Wouldn't Harry be a maddening husband?" she said as she brushed out her hair. "Oh! Would he? In what way?" "He'd be so selfish, so obtrusive--he'd always want you to do exactly what he liked, just when he liked, and never when he didn't, or when you liked, I mean." "How could he like you to do what he liked when he didn't like? That would be expecting too much. I don't see what you mean, Val." "I only mean that when he's in a bad temper Harry's tiresome, and if he were married he'd be in one oftener." "Oh dear! Are most men bad-tempered when they're married, Val?" "Yes. Nearly always." "_What?_ Then, will Cyril ..." "Cyril's a pleasant, easy-going boy, but, as you won't have enough money, he's sure to be bad-tempered at times." "Then aren't married men bad-tempered when they have plenty of money, Val?" "Oh, if they have a great deal they're awfully bad-tempered, too; because, you see, then they lose it, or if they don't do that they're always trying to enjoy themselves with it and finding the enjoyment flat, and then they blame their wives. Besides, anyhow, having enough money leads to all sorts of complications."