"Yes," he observed, "that's what we say. Sometimes it gets us off and
sometimes it doesn't."

"Well, it got him off to-night," she said. "He was pretty impressive. He
said there was a ruling decision against him and he had to make some
sort of distinction so that the decision wouldn't rule. Do you know what
that means? I don't."

"Why didn't you ask him?" Randolph wanted to know.

"I did and he said he could explain it, but that it would take a month.
So of course there wasn't time."

"I thought," said Randolph, "that he used to talk law to you by the
hour."

The button wasn't on the foil that time, because the thrust brought
blood--a bright flush into her cheeks and a sudden brightness into her
eyes that would have induced him to relent if she hadn't followed the
thing up of her own accord.

"I wish you'd tell me something," she said. "I expect you know better
than any one else I could ask. Why is it that husbands and wives can't
talk to each other? With people who live the way we do, it isn't that
they've worn each other out, because they see no more of each other,
hardly, than they do of the others. And it isn't that they're naturally
more uninteresting to each other than the rest of the people they know.
Because then, why did they marry each other in the first place, instead
of any one of the others who are so easy to talk to afterward? Imagine
what this table would be if the husbands and wives sat side by side!