"Ah, that's doubtless the best way and the firm ground. And you mean
you're _not_ thoroughly pleased with Mrs. Server?"
"No--and yet I want to be kind to her. Therefore what's the matter?"
"Oh, if it's what's the matter with _you_ you ask me, that extends the
question. If you want to be kind to her, you get on with her, as we were
saying, quite enough for my argument. And isn't the matter also, after
all," I demanded, "that you simply feel she desires you to be kind?"
"She does that." And he looked at me as with the sense of drawing from
me, for his relief, some greater help than I was as yet conscious of the
courage to offer. "It _is_ that she desires me. She likes it. And the
extraordinary thing is that _I_ like it."
"And why in the world shouldn't you?"
"Because she terrifies me. She has something to hide."
"But, my dear man," I asked with a gaiety singularly out of relation to
the small secret thrill produced in me by these words--"my dear man,
what woman who's worth anything hasn't?"
"Yes, but there are different ways. What _she_ tries for is this false
appearance of happiness."