"I'm sorry that you disapprove of my marriage," he said meekly. "I've always tried to please you."
"You've done nothing of the sort, and you know it."
"I've always tried to please you," he continued imperturbably; "but I've always failed."
"You have." She nodded her head grimly.
"I felt that I ought to tell you. I'm sorry if it annoys"
"You've done nothing but annoy me ever since you were born," was the angry retort. "You were a most tiresome child. Your poor, dear mother would insist on giving you the most unhealthy toys."
"Unhealthy toys?"
"Yes, Noah's Arks and things with paint on them, and you licked off the paint and were always horribly ill afterwards."
"I suppose that's what's the matter with me now," he murmured. "I've been licking off the paint from the conventional ideas of happiness, and it's made me horribly ill."
"Don't talk nonsense," commanded Lady Drewitt. "What are you going to do?"
"Marry her, I suppose. I see no way out of it."
For a full minute Lady Drewitt regarded him suspiciously.
"So," she said at length, a note of triumph in her voice, "you are already regretting your folly. Was it through this girl that you came to London?"
"I'm afraid it was." He gazed down at the point of his cane.
