Mrs. Morrell was keen enough to give it the required directing touches:

"Too bad we can't tear your wife away from her house and garden."

"If you only had some one to practise with regularly at home! Your voice
ought to be systematically cultivated. It is wonderful!"

And later:

"You ought not to come here so much, I suppose--" rather doubtfully, "Any
sort of practice and accompaniment--even my poor efforts--does you so much
good! You or I would understand perfectly, but it is sometimes so difficult
for the inexperienced domestic type to comprehend! An older woman who
understands men knows--but come, we must sing that once more."

The effect of these and a thousand similar speeches injected apparently at
random here and there in the tide of other things was at once to intensify
Keith's vague feeling of guilt, and to put it in the light somehow of an
injustice to himself. He had an unformulated notion that if Nan would or
could only understand the situation and be a good fellow that every one
would be happy; but as she was a mere woman, with a woman's prejudices,
this was impossible. It was absurd to expect him to give up his music just
because she wanted to be different! He had really nothing whatever to
conceal; and yet it actually seemed that difficulty and concealment would
be necessary if this sort of unspoken reproach were kept up. Women were so
confoundedly single-minded!

And as the normal, healthy, non-introspective male tends to avoid
discomfort, even of his own making, it thus came about that Keith spent
less and less time at home. He did not explain to himself why. It was