ministrations, like a proud husband. âIâm due in the office at ten.â
She glanced at the clock on the dresser.
âPlenty of time,â she said. âAnd howâs Peggy?â
Still smiling, he milked and sugared his tea, and stirred it.
âPeggy?â he murmured. âThereâs no change in her .â
She offered him a plate heaped with scones freshly baked. He took one, and contrived to make the offering and his acceptance seem significant.
âYouâre my favourite baker, Effie,â he said.
She laughed but turned pinker.
âOch, Iâm sure Mrs Lochieâs as good as ever I could be.â
âAt baking?â
âAye, John, at baking. What else?â
For a few seconds he did not answer. Apparently composed himself, he noticed she was a little flustered.
âWhen I said there was no change in Peggy,â he said, âI was really hinting there was a change in somebody else.â
âI guessed as much.â
âMaybe I ought to say no more, Effie. You see, you come into it.â
âMe, John?â
As he nodded, it never occurred to her that he was lying. She had always thought that suffering had brought to him distinction of body and mind. With his black hair now thickly powdered with white at the sides, and his lean brown meditative face, he seemed to her a more distinguished man than Sir Colin himself. Never had she heard him say an indecent or false word. Several times she had found herself, deep in her own mind, regretting that his ordeal seemed to have purged him of passions. She had also indulged in the supposition of Peggyâs deathand his freedom to remarry: if he asked her, she did not think she would refuse.
âAye, you, Effie,â he said. âBut maybe I should change the subject. Thereâs something else I want to ask you.â
âBut Iâd like to know how I come into it, John, whatever it is.â
He laughed. âOch, why not? Youâre a sensible woman, Effie, and not likely to let silly tittle-tattle upset you. Somebody has got it into her head you and I are too fond of each other.â
She seemed more agitated than indignant.
âMrs Lochie, do you mean?â she asked.
He nodded. âI donât think sheâs really got a spite against us, Effie. Itâs God she blames, but whereâs the satisfaction in slandering him?â
âI was aware she slandered you, but I didnât think sheâd started on me.â
âDonât blame her, Effie.â
âIâm certainly not going to be sorry for her either, if she spreads dirty slanders.â
He chuckled. âSo itâs a dirty slander, Effie, to say that you and I are fond of each other?â
She was blushing; her throat was aflame, and perhaps her breasts.
He leaned towards her.
âI didnât think that was what she meant,â she said hoarsely.
âIt wasnât, Effie,â he whispered. âShe made it plain enough what she meant. She accused us of being in bed together; but she put it more coarsely than that.â
âMy God!â she cried, and made to rise.
He put his hand on her breast and gently pushed her down.
âSheâs an old woman, Effie, crazy with anxiety. She sees I have difficulty whiles in showing affection for Peggy; which is the truth, Iâm sorry to say. She thinks then I must be showing it to somebody else. It doesnât occur to her I might be empty of affection altogether.â
She stared at the table.
âI hope thatâs not true, John,â she said, still hoarse.
He wondered if he could risk kissing or embracing her. Were her scruples sufficiently annulled by desire for revenge, or by lust, or even by genuine affection for him? To his own destruction, and the cone-gatherersâ, ought he to add hers?
He sat still.
âI think we should drop this subject in the meantime, Effie,â he said, at last. âI see Iâve just got