“The little beast was guying your crowd,” he said, “but I do not want him to guy you. Not that he wouldn’t try. He has the audacity for anything.” A flush arose to her cheeks and her eyes gleamed. “That is not true, Sam,” she said coldly. “You say that because you are becoming hard and cold and cynical. Your friend Morrison talked from his heart. It was beautiful. Men like you, who have a strong influence over him, may lead him away, but in the end a man like that will come to give his life to the service of society. You should help him; not assume an attitude of unbelief and laugh at him.” Sam stood upon the hearth smoking his pipe and looking at her. He was thinking how easy it would have been in the first year after their marriage to have explained Morrison. Now he felt that he was but making a bad matter worse, but went on determined to stick to his policy of being entirely honest with her. “Look here, Sue,” he began quietly, “be a good sport. Morrison was joking. I know the man. He is the friend of men like me because he wants to be and because it pays him to be. He is a talker, a writer, a talented, unscrupulous word-monger. He is making a big salary by taking the ideas of men like me and expressing them better than we can ourselves. He is a good workman and a generous, open-hearted fellow with a lot of nameless charm in him, but a man of convictions he is not. He could talk tears into the eyes of your fallen women, but he would be a lot more likely to talk good women into their state.” Sam put a hand upon her shoulder. “Be sensible and do not be offended,” he went on: “take the fellow for what he is and be glad for him. He hurts little and cheers a lot. He could make a convincing argument in favour of civilisation’s return to cannibalism, but really, you know, he spends most of his time thinking and writing of washing machines and ladies’ hats and liver pills, and most of his eloquence after all only comes down to ‘Send for catalogue, Department K’ in the end.” Sue’s voice was colourless with passion when she replied. “This is unbearable. Why did you bring the fellow here?” Sam sat down and picked up his book. In his impatience he lied to her for the first time since their marriage. “First, because I like him and second, because I wanted to see if I couldn’t produce a man who could outsentimentalise your socialist friends,” he said quietly. Sue turned and walked out of the room. In a way the action was final and marked the end of understanding between them. Putting down his book Sam watched her go and some feeling he had kept for her and that had differentiated her from all other women died in him as the door closed between them. Throwing the book aside he sprang to his feet and stood looking at the door. “The old goodfellowship appeal is dead,” he thought. “From now on we will have to explain and apologise like two strangers. No more taking each other for granted.”