"For God's sake," said he, "don't let him see that!"
"Oh, how you twist things!" she cried in impatient protest.
Tom only shook his head. The charge was not sincere.
"Good-bye, Tom," she went on after a pause. "I believe, some day or other, you'll come back—or, at any rate, come and live next door—instead of Berthe Cormack, you know. But I don't know in what state you'll find us."
"I'd just like to tell you one thing, if I may," said Tom, resolutely refusing to meet the softened look in her eyes with any answering friendliness.
"Yes?"
"You've got one of the best fellows in the world for a husband."
"Well, I know that, I suppose, at least, as well as you do."
"That's all. Good-bye."
Without more he left her. She drew the window-curtain aside and watched him get into his cab and be driven away. The house was very still. Her husband was in his place at Westminster, and the children had gone to a party. She went upstairs to the nursery, hoping to find something to criticise; then to Harry's dressing-room, where she filled his pin-cushion with pins and put fresh water to the flowers in the vase. She could find no other offices of wife or mother to do, and she presently found herself looking into Tom's room, which was very bare and desolate, stripped of the homelike growth of a five years' tenancy. Her excitement was over; she felt terribly like a child after a tantrum; she flung open the window of the room and stood listening to the noise of the town. It was the noise of happy people, who had plenty to do; or of happier still, who did not want to do anything, and thus found content. She turned away and walked downstairs with a step as heavy as physical weariness brings with it. It came as a curious aggravation—light itself, but gaining weight from its surroundings—that, for once in a way, she had no engagements that evening. All the tide seemed to be flowing by, leaving her behind high and dry on the shore. Even the children had their party, even Harry his toy at Westminster; and Willie Ruston was working might and main to give a good start to Omofaga. Only of her had the world no need—and no heed.