"Good-bye, good-bye."
The car moved on, gathered speed, vanished round a curve, and Doris was left standing by the sign-post at the cross-roads, still dizzy and weak with the languor born of those kisses and the electrical touch of those gentle hands. She had to take a deep breath, to draw herself up deliberately, before she was strong enough to start her homeward walk. She had half a mile in which to invent the necessary lies.
Alone, Mr. Hutton suddenly found himself the prey of an appalling boredom.
II
Mrs. Hutton was lying on the sofa in her boudoir, playing Patience. In spite of the warmth of the July evening a wood fire was burning on the hearth. A black Pomeranian, extenuated by the heat and the fatigues of digestion, slept before the blaze.
"Phew! Isn't it rather hot in here?" Mr. Hutton asked as he entered the room.
"You know I have to keep warm, dear." The voice seemed breaking on the verge of tears. "I get so shivery."
"I hope you're better this evening."
"Not much, I'm afraid."