“Common—­common where?” he queried; and she returned with unusual readiness:  “Why, I should say anywhere but in his school-room.  Those people are always awkward in society.  But then,” she added disarmingly, “I suppose I shouldn’t have known if he was clever.”

Archer disliked her use of the word “clever” almost as much as her use of the word “common”; but he was beginning to fear his tendency to dwell on the things he disliked in her.  After all, her point of view had always been the same.  It was that of all the people he had grown up among, and he had always regarded it as necessary but negligible.  Until a few months ago he had never known a “nice” woman who looked at life differently; and if a man married it must necessarily be among the nice.

“Ah—­then I won’t ask him to dine!” he concluded with a laugh; and May echoed, bewildered:  “Goodness—­ ask the Carfrys’ tutor?”

“Well, not on the same day with the Carfrys, if you prefer I shouldn’t.  But I did rather want another talk with him.  He’s looking for a job in New York.”

Her surprise increased with her indifference:  he almost fancied that she suspected him of being tainted with “foreignness.”

“A job in New York?  What sort of a job?  People don’t have French tutors:  what does he want to do?”

“Chiefly to enjoy good conversation, I understand,” her husband retorted perversely; and she broke into an appreciative laugh.  “Oh, Newland, how funny!  Isn’t that French?”

On the whole, he was glad to have the matter settled for him by her refusing to take seriously his wish to invite M. Riviere.  Another after-dinner talk would have made it difficult to avoid the question of New York; and the more Archer considered it the less he was able to fit M. Riviere into any conceivable picture of New York as he knew it.

He perceived with a flash of chilling insight that in future many problems would be thus negatively solved for him; but as he paid the hansom and followed his wife’s long train into the house he took refuge in the comforting platitude that the first six months were always the most difficult in marriage.  “After that I suppose we shall have pretty nearly finished rubbing off each other’s angles,” he reflected; but the worst of it was that May’s pressure was already bearing on the very angles whose sharpness he most wanted to keep.

XXI.

The small bright lawn stretched away smoothly to the big bright sea.

The turf was hemmed with an edge of scarlet geranium and coleus, and cast-iron vases painted in chocolate colour, standing at intervals along the winding path that led to the sea, looped their garlands of petunia and ivy geranium above the neatly raked gravel.