'Yes, he did. But they weren't the notes Landi asked him to sing.'
'Then Landi played him two tunes, and found he didn't know one from the other.'
'Nothing at all. Except that it showed he had no ear, as well as no voice. That is all.'
Madame Frabelle would never own she was beaten.
'Ah, well, well,' she said, shaking her head in an oracular way. 'You wait!'
'By the way, I may be a little late for dinner tonight. I'm going to see an old friend who's been wounded in the war,' Bruce told Madame Frabelle proudly.
It had always been something of an ordeal to Edith when she knew that Aylmer and Bruce were alone together. It was a curious feeling, combined of loyalty to Bruce (she hated him to make himself ridiculous), loyalty to Aylmer, and an indescribable sense of being lowered in her own eyes. When they seemed friendly together it pained her self-respect. Most women will understand the sensation. However, she knew it had to be, and would be glad when it was over.
The next evening Bruce came in, holding himself very straight, with a slightly military manner. When he saw his wife he just stopped himself from saluting.
'That's a man!' he exclaimed. 'That's a splendid fellow.'
'You don't appreciate him. In my opinion Aylmer Ross is a hero.'
'Better! He would say so, anyhow. Ah, he's a wonderful chap!' Bruce hummed Tipperary below his breath.
Edith was surprised to find herself suffering no less mental discomfort and irritation while Bruce talked about Aylmer and praised him than she used to feel years ago. It seemed as if three years had passed and altered nothing. She answered coldly. Bruce became more enthusiastic. He declared that she didn't know how to value such a fine character. 'Women,' he repeated, 'don't know a hero when they see one.'
Evidently if Bruce had had his way Aylmer would have been covered with DSO's and VC's; nothing was good enough for him.
On the other hand, if Edith had praised Aylmer, Bruce would have been the first to _debiner_ his actions, undervalue his gifts, and crab him generally.
Edith was not one of those women, far more common than is supposed, who consider themselves aggrieved and injured when a discarded lover consoles himself with someone else. Nor was she one of the numerous people who will not throw away what they no longer want for fear someone else will pick it up. She had such a strong sympathy for Dulcie Clay that she had said to herself several times she would like to see her perfectly happy. Edith was convinced that the nurse adored her patient, but she was not at all sure that he returned the admiration. Edith herself had only seen him alone once, and on that occasion they had said hardly anything to each other. He had been constrained and she had been embarrassed. The day that Arthur Coniston was there and they talked of pictures, Aylmer had given her, by a look, to understand that he would like to see her again alone, and she knew perfectly well, even without that, that he was longing for another _tête-à-tête_.