e imperfect," was how Mr. Britling
expressed his reasons for submission. And she had a hold upon him too in
a certain facile pitifulness. She was little; she could be stung
sometimes by the slightest touch and then her blue eyes would be bright
with tears.

Those possible tears could weigh at times even more than those possible
lost embraces.

And there was Oliver.

Oliver was a person Mr. Britling had never seen. He grew into the scheme
of things by insensible gradations. He was a government official in
London; he was, she said, extraordinarily dull, he was lacking
altogether in Mr. Britling's charm and interest, but he was faithful and
tender and true. And considerably younger than Mr. Britling. He asked
nothing but to love. He offered honourable marriage. And when one's
heart was swelling unendurably one could weep in safety on his patient
shoulder. This patient shoulder of Oliver's ultimately became Mr.
Britling's most exasperating rival.

She liked to vex him with Oliver. She liked to vex him generally. Indeed
in this by no means abnormal love affair, there was a very strong
antagonism. She seemed to resent the attraction Mr. Britling had for
her and the emotions and pleasure she had with him. She seemed under the
sway of an instinctive desire to make him play heavily for her, in time,
in emotion, in self-respect. It was intolerable to her that he could
take her easily and happily. That would be taking her cheaply. She
valued his gifts by the bother they cost him, and was determined that
the path of true love should not, if she could help it, run smooth. Mr.
Britling on the other hand was of the school of polite and happy lovers.
He thought it outrageous to dispute and contradict, and he thought that
making love was a cheerful, comfortable thing to be done in a state of
high good humour and intense mutual appreciation. This levity offended
the lady's pride. She drew unfavourable contrasts with Oliver. If Oliver
lacked charm he certainly did not lack emotion. He desired sacrifice, it
seemed, almost more than satisfactions. Oliver was a person of the most
exemplary miserableness; he would weep copiously and frequently. She
could always make him weep when she wanted to do so. By holding out
hopes and then dashing them if by no other expedient. Why did Mr.
Britling never weep? She wept.

Some base streak of competitiveness in Mr. Britling's nature made it
seem impossible that he should relinquish the lady to Oliv