The husband had been complaisant; they
had really loved each other; his wife was very cruel to him and
had long ceased to be a wife to him. He thought that Mrs Basil
had been his soul-mate, separated from him by an unkind
fate--something sentimental of that sort.
But he discovered that, whilst he was still writing long weekly
letters to Mrs Basil, he was beginning to be furiously impatient if
he missed seeing Maisie Maidan during the course of the day. He
discovered himself watching the doorways with impatience; he
discovered that he disliked her boy husband very much for hours
at a time. He discovered that he was getting up at unearthly hours
in order to have time, later in the morning, to go for a walk with
Maisie Maidan. He discovered himself using little slang words that
she used and attaching a sentimental value to those words. These,
you understand, were discoveries that came so late that he could
do nothing but drift. He was losing weight; his eyes were
beginning to fall in; he had touches of bad fever. He was, as he
described it, pipped.
And, one ghastly hot day, he suddenly heard himself say to
Leonora:
"I say, couldn't we take Mrs Maidan with us to Europe and drop
her at Nauheim?"
He hadn't had the least idea of saying that to Leonora.
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