“Other people’s happiness is not exactly delirious,” he said.
She was moving in the direction of the nearest telephone, but she said over her shoulder:
“Oh, well, I think you did pretty well for yourself when you chose Mama.”
She left him sipping his black coffee; he took every drop of that.
When he had finished he did not go back to his study, but to the drawing-room, where he sat down in a large chair by the fire. He lit a cigar. It was a quiet hour in the house, and he might have been supposed to be a man entirely at peace.
Mr. Lanley, coming in about an hour later, certainly imagined he was rousing an invalid from a refreshing rest. He tried to retreat, but found Vincent’s black eyes were on him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “Just wanted to see Adelaide.”
“Adelaide has a headache.”
Life was taking so many wrong turnings that Mr. Lanley had grown apprehensive. He suddenly remembered how many headaches Adelaide had had just before he knew of her troubles with Severance.
“A headache?” he said nervously.