“What business have you in Abbeyville?” asked Maria in surprise.
“It is business of a private nature, which you wouldn’t understand,” answered he loftily.
“Which is a polite way of telling me that it is none of my business,” retorted Maria in a huff.
Christopher left the house in dignified anger; his portly figure and handsome profile the admiration of his wrathful wife. The fact was, he did not wish to talk; he had determined that he would investigate the “X” ray to his own satisfaction. A certain idea haunted him by day, and mingled with his dreams at night; it thrust itself between him and the long columns in the ledger; until, with a finger on the figures, he would fix his eyes on vacancy, and go off into a deep study.
At last Mr. Brown, his employer, said to him:
“What is the matter with you Christopher? Are you ill?”
“No—yes—not very,” answered Christopher confusedly.
“You had better take a layoff until you feel better,” said Brown; adding mentally, “You are of no use here; you’ll mix those accounts until it will take an expert a week to straighten them.”
Christopher packed his grip with a sigh of satisfaction, and left home on the evening train.
Maria gave a little regretful sigh. “He might have kissed me; he didn’t even say good-by.”