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Updated: June 11, 2025
So that he had nothing but impatience and annoyance for the recollection of the visit of the afternoon; and Daphne's attitude distressed him. Why, she was as pale as a ghost! His thoughts sent Chloe Fairmile to the deuce. "Look here, dear!" he said, kneeling down suddenly beside his wife "don't you get any nonsense into your head.
Mrs. Fairmile was not the person to waste her time in chit-chat. A gust of violence swept through her. She had given Roger everything money, ease, amusement. Where would he have been without her? And his mother, too? tiresome, obstructive woman!
Fairmile was a woman who would stick at nothing. And if Daphne were not already betrayed, she could no longer protect herself. The issue was certain. Such women as Chloe Fairmile are not to be baulked of what they desire. Good women cannot fight them on equal terms.
He was engaged in stroking Daphne's fingers and studying the small set face. "Whom did she marry?" asked Daphne, putting an end to the stroking. "A fellow in the army Major Fairmile a smart, popular sort of chap. He was her father's aide-de-camp when they married just after we did and they've been in India, or Egypt, ever since.
Quite right too doctors said it was good for them. But Miss Farmer "Who is Miss Farmer?" inquired Mrs. Fairmile. She was riding close beside him an embodied friendliness a soft and womanly Chloe, very different from the old. "She's the nurse; my mother found her. She's a lady by way of she doesn't do any rough work and I dare say she's the newest thing out. But she's too tight a hand for my taste.
Fairmile wore a dress of some pale gray stuff, cobweb-light and transparent, over a green satin. It had the effect of sea-water, and her gray hat, with its pale green wreath, framed the golden-gray of her hair. Every one of her few adornments was exquisite so was her grace as she moved. Daphne's pink-and-black vivacity beside her seemed a pinchbeck thing.
I should have been a decent fellow if you'd stuck to me. I had all sorts of plans; you might have taught me anything. I was a fool about Chloe Fairmile, but there was nothing in it, you know there wasn't. And now it's all rooted up and done with. Women like to think such things can be mended, but they can't they can't, indeed. It would be foolish to try."
Fairmile and Roger had disappeared into the conservatory; and though she talked incessantly through their absence, she felt each minute of it. When they came back for tea, she imagined that Roger looked embarrassed, while Mrs. Fairmile was all gaiety, chatting to her companion, her face raised to his, in the manner of one joyously renewing an old intimacy.
He sat brooding: his hands upon the packets, his head bowed. One might have thought him a man overcome and dissolved by the enervating memories of passion; but in truth, he was gradually and steadily reacting against them; resuming, and this time finally, as far as Chloe Fairmile was concerned, a man's mastery of himself.
Fairmile, laughing, pointed to the speaker. Roger looked up involuntarily, and Daphne saw the look. "Roger has nothing to do," she said, quickly. "Thank you very much: we will certainly come. I'll write to you. How many miles did you say it was?" "Oh, nothing for a motor! twenty-five. We used to think it nothing for a ride, didn't we?"
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