He was
ashamed of the feeling. Easton it seemed was a man of a peculiarly
fine honour, so that Amanda could trust herself with him to an
extent that would have been inadvisable with men of a commoner
substance, and he had a gift of understanding and sympathy that was
almost feminine; he could cheer one up when one was lonely and
despondent. For Amanda was so methodical in the arrangement of her
time that even in the full rush of a London season she could find an
hour now and then for being lonely and despondent. And he was a
liberal and understanding purchaser of the ascendant painters; he
understood that side of Amanda's interests, a side upon which Benham
was notably deficient. . . .
"Amanda seems to like that dark boy, Poff; what is his name?--Sir
Philip Easton?" said Lady Marayne.
Benham looked at her with a slightly hostile intelligence, and said
nothing.
"When a man takes a wife, he has to keep her," said Lady Marayne.
"No," said Benham after consideration. "I don't intend to be a
wife-herd."
"What?"
"Wife-herd--same as goat-herd.
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