"I'll stay and help to-morrow, if you want me, though you know I'm no good. I say, how much more are you going to do to the house?"
Daphne looked at him coldly. She had not returned the kiss. "Of course, I know that you don't appreciate in the least what I am doing!"
Roger thrust his hands into his pockets, and walked up and down uncomfortably. He thought, in fact, that Daphne was spoiling the dear nondescript old place, and he knew that the neighbourhood thought so too. Also he particularly disliked the young architect who was superintending the works ("a priggish ass," who gave himself abominable airs--except to Daphne, whom he slavishly obeyed, and to Miss Farmer, with whom Roger had twice caught him gossipping). But he was determined not to anger his wife, and he held his tongue.
"I wish, anyway, you wouldn't stick at it so closely," he said discontentedly. "Let's go abroad somewhere for Christmas--Nice, or Monte Carlo. I am sure you want a change."
"Well, it isn't exactly an enchanting neighbourhood," said Daphne, with pinched lips.
"I'm awfully sorry you don't like the people here," said Roger, perplexed. "I dare say they're all stupids."
"That wouldn't matter--if they behaved decently," said Daphne, flushing.
"I suppose that means--if I behaved decently!" cried Roger, turning upon her.
Daphne faced him, her head in air, her small foot beating the ground, in a trick it had.
"Well, I'm not likely to forget the Brendon ball, am I?"
"I meant no harm, and you know I didn't," he said sulkily.
"Oh, no, you only made a laughing-stock of _me_!" Daphne turned on her heel. Suddenly she felt herself roughly caught in Roger's arms.
"Daphne, what _is_ the matter? Why can't we be happy together?"
"Ask yourself," she said, trying to extricate herself, and not succeeding. "I don't like the people here, and they don't like me. But as you seem to enjoy flirting with Mrs. Fairmile, there's one person satisfied."
Roger laughed--not agreeably. "I shall soon think, Daphne, that somebody's 'put a spell on you,' as my old nurse used to say. I wish I knew what I could do to break it."
She lay passive in his arms a moment, and then he felt a shiver run through her, and saw that she was crying. He held her close to him, kissing and comforting her, while his own eyes were wet. What her emotion meant, or his own, he could not have told clearly; but it was a moment for both of healing, of impulsive return, the one to the other, unspoken penitence on her side, a hidden self-blame on his. She clung to him fiercely, courting the pressure of his arms, the warm contact of his youth; while, in his inner mind, he renounced with energy the temptress Chloe and all her works, vowing to himself that he would give Daphne no cause, no pretext even, for jealousy, and would bear it patiently if she were still unjust and tormenting.