He had lent himself to it, tenderly, gravely, as he would have lent himself to a child's heart-rending play.

He could not profess to follow the workings of his wife's mind, but he did understand her point of view.

She had been "let in" for something she had not expected, and he was bound to make it up to her.
There had been a week of concessions, crowned by his appearance at St.
Saviour's.
But that was on a Sunday.

This was Wednesday, and he drew the line at Wednesdays.
Oh yes, he saw her drift.

He knew that what she expected of him was incessant penitence.