And Gwendolen was not without her afterthoughts that her husband's eyes might have been on her, extracting something to reprove—some offence against her dignity as his wife; her consciousness telling her that she had not kept up the perfect air of equability in public which was her own ideal. But Grandcourt made no observation on her behaviour. All he said as they were driving home was—
"Lush will dine with us among the other people to-morrow. You will treat him civilly."
Gwendolen's heart began to beat violently. The words that she wanted to utter, as one wants to return a blow, were, "You are breaking your promise to me—the first promise you made me." But she dared not utter them. She was as frightened at a quarrel as if she had foreseen that it would end with throttling fingers on her neck. After a pause, she said in the tone rather of defeat than resentment—
"I thought you did not intend him to frequent the house again."
"I want him just now. He is useful to me; and he must be treated civilly."
Silence. There may come a moment when even an excellent husband who has dropt smoking
