'It was at their house that I used to meet Lady Bridget during the few months that I had the honour of her acquaintance in England.' McKeith looked at his guest in a resentful but half puzzled way.

A spasm of doubt shook him.

Suppose he had been making a fool of himself--insulting his wife by unreasoning suspicions?
A vague contempt in her courteous aloofness had stung him to the quick.

And the other man's easy self assurance, the light interchange of conversation between them about things and people of which McKeith knew nothing--all gave the Australian a sense of bafflement--the feeling that these two were ruled by another social code, belonged to a different world, in which he had no part.

He had been sitting at the head of his table, perfunctorily doing his duty as host, wounded in his self-esteem--almost the tenderest part on him, morose and miserable.
Now he snatched at the idea that he had been mistaken, as if it were a life-buoy thrown him in deep waters.