Luke felt that he ought not to write. Mabel would not like it. It would be wrong.
“Thanks,” he said, “we so seldom have any postage stamps in the house. And I’ve lost my Onoto pen, and I sprained my wrist falling off my bicycle.”
“Oh, do write, Lukie dear.” She held out her hand to him.
“Good-by,” he said, and ran down the steps. At the bottom of the steps stood the cab, an interesting antique, which was to convey Mabel home. Mabel and Major Capstan were waiting near the door.
“You only took about twenty minutes saying good-by to Lady Tyburn,” said Mabel. “I’m giving Major Capstan a lift. If you think it’s fair on the horse to ask it to draw the three of us, get in, of course. Otherwise, it’s beautiful weather for a nice walk.”
“I will walk,” said Luke. “I prefer it.” He wished to be alone.
He sat down on the first milestone in the road, and meditated with his head in his hands.
Mabel. His wife. He was very good to her. He had been perfectly faithful to her. And was it worth while? What did she think about him? How much did she care for him? There were two men after her. He seemed to visualize the situation as a scrap from the stop-press of a newspaper.
1. MABEL. 2. DOOM. 3. CAPSTAN. Also ran. Luke Sharper, Esq.