He and Sara had been good friends after a fashion. He was a bit of
a snob but not much of a prig. She had the feeling about him that
if he could be weaned away from the family he might stand for
something fine in the way of character. But he was an adept at
straddling fences, so that he was never fully on one side or the
other, no matter which way he leaned.
He had not been deeply attached to his brother. Their ways were
wide apart. All his life he had known Challis for what he was;
his heart if not his hand was against him. From the first, he had
regarded Sara's marriage as a bad bargain for her, and toward the
last bluntly told her so. Not once but many times had he taken it
upon himself to inform her that she was a fool to put up with all
the beastly things Challis was doing. He characterised as infatuation
the emotion she was prone to call love when they met to discuss
the escapades of the careless Challis, for she always went to him
with her troubles. In direct opposition to his counselling, she
invariably forgave the erring lover who was her husband. Once Leslie
had said to her, in considerable heat: "You act as if you were his
mistress, instead of his wife. Mistresses have to forgive; wives
don't." And she had replied: "Yes, but I'd much rather have him a
lover than a husband." A remark which Leslie never quite fathomed,
being somewhat literal himself.
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