the door. She
was in. He tapped.

"Who?"

"I," said Soames.

She had been changing her frock, and was still imperfectly clothed; a
striking figure before her glass. There was a certain magnificence about
her arms, shoulders, hair, which had darkened since he first knew her,
about the turn of her neck, the silkiness of her garments, her
dark-lashed, greyblue eyes--she was certainly as handsome at forty as she
had ever been. A fine possession, an excellent housekeeper, a sensible
and affectionate enough mother. If only she weren't always so frankly
cynical about the relations between them! Soames, who had no more real
affection for her than she had for him, suffered from a kind of English
grievance in that she had never dropped even the thinnest veil of
sentiment over their partnership. Like most of his countrymen and women,
he held the view that marriage should be based on mutual love, but that
when from a marriage love had disappeared, or, been found never to have
really existed--so that it was manifestly not based on love--you must not
admit it. There it was, and the love was not--but there you were, and
must continue to be! Thus you had it both ways, and were not tarred with
cynicism, realism, and immorality like the French. Moreover, it was
necessary in the interests of property. He knew that she knew that they
both knew there was no love between them, but he still expected her not
to admit in words or conduct such a thing, and he could never understand
what she meant when she talked of the hypocrisy of the English. He said:

"Whom have you got at 'The Shelter' next week?"

Annette went on touching her lips delicately with salve--he always wished
she wouldn't do that.

"Your sister Winifred, and the Car-r-digans"--she took up a tiny stick of
black--"and Prosper Profond."

"That Belgian chap? Why him?"

Annette turned her neck lazily, touched one eyelash, and said:

"He amuses Winifred."

"I want some one to amuse Fleur; she's restive."

"R-restive?" repeated Annette. "Is it the first time you see that, my
friend? She was born r-restive, as you call it."

Would she never get that affected roll out of her r's?

He touched the dress she had taken off, and asked:

"What have you been doing?"

Annette looked at him, reflected in her glass. Her just-brightened lips
smiled, rather full, rather ironical.

"Enjoying myself," she said.

"Oh!" answered Soames glumly. "Ribbandry, I suppose."