He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her.
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