“My dear, make any use of me you please.  I’m always here.  You can come to me any time you want to escape.”

“To escape?” Anne’s face flew a colour that was a flag of defiance to any reflection on her husband.  She would be loyal to him as long as she lived.  Not one of her friends should know of her trouble and her fear.

“From your Gorsts and Hannays and people.”

“Oh, from them.”  Anne felt that she was shielding him.

Mrs. Eliott marked the flag of defiance and the attitude of defence.  If Anne had meant to “give him away,” she could not have given him more lavishly.  Mrs. Elliott’s sad inward comment was that there was more in all this than met the eye.

And Anne’s life now continued on this rather uncomfortable footing.  The Hannays came to dinner, and she dined with Mrs. Eliott.  The Ransomes came, and she dined with Mrs. Eliott.  Mr. Gorst came (for the fourth time in as many weeks), and she dined with Mrs. Eliott.  She began to wonder whether the Eliotts’ hospitality would stand the strain.  She also wondered whether her other friends in Thurston Square were wondering; and what Canon Wharton must think of it.  It had not occurred to her to wonder what Mr. Gorst would think.

At first he thought nothing of it.  When he found that he had not to encounter the terrible eyes of Mrs. Majendie, Mr. Gorst’s relief was so great that it robbed him of reflection.  And when he began to think, he merely thought that Majendie had asked him because his wife was absent, rather than that Majendie’s wife was absent because he had been asked.  Majendie had calculated on this.  He was not in the least distressed by Anne’s absences.  He believed that she was thoroughly enjoying both her own protest and Mrs. Eliott’s society.  And the arrangement really solved the problem nicely.  Otherwise the whole thing was trivial to him.  He remained unaware of the tremendous spiritual conflict that was being waged round the person of the unhappy Gorst.

But Christmas was now at hand and Christmas brought the problem back again in a terrific form.  For ten years poor Gorst had dined with his friends in Prior Street on Christmas Day.  His presence was considered by Edith to borrow a peculiar significance and sanctity from the festival.  Did they not celebrate on that day the birth of the Divine Humanity, the solemn advent of redeeming love?  Punctually on Christmas Day the prodigal returned from his farthest wanderings, and made for Prior Street as for his home.  He had never missed a Christmas.  And how could they expel him now?  His coming was such a sacred and established thing, that he had spoken of it to Edith as a certainty.  And it was as a certainty that Edith spoke of it to Majendie.

She asked him how they were to break the news to Anne.

“Better not break it at all,” said he.  “Just let him come.”

“If he does,” said Edith, “she’ll walk straight out of the house.”