“What did you do about it?”
“I sent for the plumber. He seemed such a nice, intelligent man.”
“Have you kept him to dine with us?”
“No. Why on earth should I? He had a glass of beer in the kitchen.”
“People dine with me sometimes,” said Luke, “who are neither nice nor intelligent. Oh, can’t you see, Mabel, that we are all equal in the sight of Heaven?”
“Yes,” said Mabel, “but you’re not in sight of Heaven—not by a long way. I don’t suppose you ever will be. Besides, if he had stayed, the dinner could not have gone on.”
Luke’s ears twitched convulsively. “I can’t see that,” he said. “It is unthinkable. How can you say that?”
“Well,” said Mabel, “one of the vegetables we are to eat to-night happens to be leeks. And, of course, he, being a plumber, would have stopped them.”
Luke did not swear. He simply went up to his bedroom in silence. There he began ticking certain subjects off on his finger. Number One, Den. Number Two, Slippers. Number Three, Dot and Dash. Number Four, Plumber. She would never see. She would never understand. And he was married to it. He put up both hands and pushed his ears back into position.
(I had fully intended to divide this chapter into sections and to number them in plain figures. Careless of me. Thoughtless. Have a shot at it in the next chapter? I think so. Yes, almost ...)