hey don't fight in
it--they only wear it that you mayn't touch them. If they would give
themselves away and talk like Miss Bates, I could stand it."

"Well," said Maud, "I am going to say something rather bold. It comes,
I think, of living at Cambridge with clever people, and having real
things to talk about, that makes your difficulty. You care about
people's minds more than about themselves, perhaps? But I'm on their
level, and they seem to me to be telling something about themselves all
the time. Of course it must be GHASTLY for you, and we will try to
arrange things better."

"No, dearest, you won't, and you mustn't," said Howard. "That's the
best of marriage, that one does get a glimpse into different things.
You are perfectly and entirely right. It simply means that I can't talk
their language, and I will learn it. I am a prig; your husband is a
prig--but he will try to do better. It isn't a duty, and it isn't a
pleasure, and it isn't a question of minds at all. It is just living
life on ordinary terms. I won't have anything different at all. I'm
ashamed of myself for my moans. When I have anything in the way of work
to do, it may be different. But now I see what I have to do. I am
suffering from the stupidity of so-called clever people; and you
mustn't mind it. Only don't, for Heaven's sake, try to contrive, or to
spare me things. That is how the ugly paterfamilias is made. You
mustn't spoil me or manage me; if I ever suspect you of doing that,
I'll just go back to Cambridge alone. I hate even to have made you look
at me as you did just now--you must forgive me that and many other
things; and now you must promise just this, that if I am snappish you
won't give way; you must not become a slipper-warmer."

"Yes, yes, I promise," said Maud, laughing; "here's my hand on it! You
shall be diligently henpecked. But I am always rather puzzled about
these things; all these old ideas about mutual consolation and advice
and improvement and support ought to be THERE--they all mean
something--they mean a great deal! But the moment they are spoken
about, or even thought about, they seem so stuffy and disgusting. I
don't understand it! I feel that one ought to be able to talk plainly
about anything; and yet the more plainly you talk about such things as
these, the more hateful you are, and the meaner you feel!"

XXVIII

THE VICAR'S VIEW

Another small factor which caused Howard some discomfort was the
conversati