ss Irene Wheeler, whom he could watch at will. She might be concealing
something very marvellous, but she was dull, and she ignored the finer
responsibilities of a hostess. She collected many beautiful things; she
had some knowledge of what they were; she must be interested in them--or
why should she trouble to possess them? She must have taste. And yet had
she taste? Was she interested in her environment? A tone, a word, will
create suspicion that the exhibition of expertise for hours cannot
allay. George did not like the Frenchman. The Frenchman was about
thirty--small, thin, fair, with the worn face of the man who lives
several lives at once. He did not look kind; he did not look reliable;
and he offered little evidence in support of Miss Wheeler's ardent
assertion that he had been everywhere, seen everything, read everything,
done everything. He assuredly had not, for example, read Verlaine, who
was mentioned by Miss Wheeler. Now George had read one or two poems of
Verlaine, and thought them unique; hence he despised M. Defourcambault.
He could read French, in a way, but he was incapable of speaking a
single word of it in the presence of compatriots; the least
mono-syllable would have died on his lips. He was absurdly envious of
those who could speak two languages; he thought sometimes that he would
prefer to be able to speak two languages than to do anything else in the
world; not to be able to speak two languages humiliated him intensely;
he decided to 'take up French seriously' on the morrow; but he had
several times arrived at a similar decision.

If Lois was glum, George too was glum. He wished he had not come to the
dinner; he wished he could be magically transported to the solitude of
his room at the club. He slipped into a reverie about the Marguerite
affair. Nobody could have divined that scarcely twenty-four hours
earlier he had played a principal part in a tragedy affecting his whole
life. He had borne the stroke better than he otherwise would have done
for the simple reason that nobody knew of his trouble. He had not to
arrange his countenance for the benefit of people who were aware what
was behind the countenance. But also he was philosophical. He recognized
that the Marguerite affair was over. She would never give way, and he
would never give way. She was wrong. He had been victimized. He had
behaved with wisdom and with correctness (save for the detail of
throwing the ring into the Thames). Agg's warn