He pulled himself up abruptly. Why, he was married to Mabel. Of course, he was. It was just as if he could not trust his memory for anything these days. He had been rather rude to Mabel at breakfast. Well, not rude exactly, but not friendly. Mrs. Smith had a sable stole. He ought to have said something about it. He must try at once to think of something that would be said about a sable stole.
He must make it up to Mabel in some way. What could he give her? He could give her more of his society. He would stop work, go back to her at once, and be just as nice as nice could be.
He put on his hat, and met Diggle in the passage.
“Where are you going?” said Diggle.
“I was going home, sir,” said Luke, “I’m not very well this morning.”
(For a Christian martyr he certainly did lie like sin.)
“Don’t let it occur again,” said Diggle.
He encountered Mabel in the hall of his house. She had a letter in her hand. She seemed surprised to see him, and very far from pleased.
“What in goodness are you here for?” she said. “Forgotten something?”
He set his teeth. In spite of discouragement, he was going to be very nice indeed.