So I handed that over, too, and produced a pencil
'Well, I'm dashed,' said Ross, and took that also.
'Oh, do let me finish my letter to Michael, Ross. The Titmouse posts it in the morning. I only want to write just one more thing.'
'You may say,' said Ross, handing it back, '"I am a very disobedient wife, Michael."'
So I said, "I am a very disobedient wife, Michael, but I love you" (oh, he's coming for the pencil), "love you—lo——"'
But, of course, I've got another pencil, one must be prepared for such emergencies, but the thing that really rankles is, if he 'lets me'—in my house!
In the silent watches of the night I have decided that if Sam does produce any improvement in the housekeeping I am going to find out how; surely my brain is as good as a man's any day of the week.
CHAPTER XXI
I feel anxious about Monica. She hasn't heard from Charlie. I saw her yesterday. She looked very tired, but wouldn't say much—only, 'there's hardly been time yet,' which she knows as well as I do isn't true. So I suppose something has gone wrong there. God doesn't seem to like people to be happy lately. I haven't heard from Michael either the last two days, but I try not to worry. Probably the posts are just hung up again.
Mrs Williams is better, much less pain, and a little fatter, or perhaps it would be more correct to say, rather less thin. The nurse thinks she will be able to get up for a while to-morrow, and that she should go away for a change before her operation.