He threw back his head in an attempt to regain the old, masterful
manner.
"I hope I am too sincere not to state honorably that I--I feel sure
you are right!" he announced, "that is, in this particular instance.
I have no desire to establish any point at the expense--at the
expense...."
He frowned into space; his lips tightened obstinately.
"But it will _have_ to be at somebody's expense!" he cried
irritably. "Shall we _always_ go on like this, putting off, putting
off, letting this shameful, unsatisfactory state of things continue,
just because it would be _our_ wives that would suffer...."
"I guess that's about it," Luella answered, seriously.
"Then all I have to say is, we're damned cowards, all of us!" he
cried, with the old flash of rage.
But it was the last time. Beaten, yet triumphant, he stooped for his
harness and himself assumed it, with set teeth.
"I--I shouldn't have said that," he said, gravely. "It's--it's a
very difficult thing ... a man has so many responsibilities...."
They waited patiently.
"It seems one must compromise--something--anyway," he went on,
thinking his way painfully along. "I don't know why it seems so
difficult to me now; ... they talked enough, all the others, and of
course I shall never speak to your Aunt Ethel again--you may use
your own judgment, Dorothy--because there are some insults.
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