He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. “As I love you. But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. He had more time for her. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. “Would YOU like us—if some one told you the bare outline of our story?— and what we are doing?” “I shouldn’t mind,” said Ann Veronica. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage.
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