"Jack in anguish?" asked Kit.
"Yes; just remember that it was so. Here's Toby. I thought he was at church. What a heathen my husband is!"
Toby strolled up, with his pipe in his mouth.
"I meant to go to church," he said; "but eventually I decided to take—to take my spiritual consolation at home."
"I, too, Toby," said Kit.
[CHAPTER X]
TOBY DRAWS THE MORAL
Toby was sitting in the smoking-room of the Bachelors' Club some weeks later on a hot evening in July. The window was open, and the hum of London came booming in soft and large. It was nearly midnight, and the tide of carriages had set westward from the theatres, and was flowing fast. The pavements were full, the roadway was roaring, the season was gathered up for its final effort. Now and then the door opened, and a man in evening dress would lounge in, ring for a whisky-and-soda, and turn listlessly over the leaves of an evening paper, or exchange a few remarks with a friend. As often as the door opened Toby looked up, as if expecting someone.