“It would be easier to be a descendant of Charles the Second than of Queen Elizabeth, my dear,” remarked Henry.
Mrs. Altham pursed her lips up for a moment.
“I do not think we need enter into that,” she said. “I was asking you if you wished to accept Mrs. Ames’ invitation for Saturday. She says she expects Sir James and his wife, so perhaps we shall hear some more about this wonderful relationship, and Dr. Evans and his wife and one or two others. To my mind that looks rather as if the husband and wife plan was not quite what she expected it would be. And giving up all active part in the Suffragette movement, too! But I daresay she feels her age, though goodness only knows what it is. However, it is clearly going to be a grand party on Saturday, and the waiter from the Crown will be there to help Parker, going round and pouring a little foam into everybody’s glass. I do not know where Major Ames gets his champagne from, but I never get anything but foam. But I am sure I do not wish to be unkind, and certainly poor Major Ames does not look well. I daresay he has worries we do not know of, and, of course, there is no reason why he should speak of them to us. The Evans’, too! I never satisfied myself as to why they went away in October. They must have been away nearly three weeks, for it was only yesterday that I saw them driving down from the station, with so much luggage on the top of the cab I wonder it did not fall over.”
“It can’t have been yesterday, my dear,” said Mr. Altham, “because you spoke of it to me two days ago.”
“You shall have it your own way, Henry,” said she. “I am quite willing that you should think it was a twelvemonth ago, if you choose. But I suppose you will not dispute that they went away in October, which is a very odd time to take for a holiday. Of course, Mrs. Evans stopped here all August, or so she says, and she might answer that she wanted a little change of air. But for my part, I think there must have been something more, though, as I say, I cannot guess what it is. Luckily, it is no concern of mine, and I need not worry my head about it. But I have always thought Mrs. Evans looked far from strong, and it seems odd that a doctor’s wife should not be more robust, when she has all his laboratory to choose from.”
Henry lit his cigarette, and strolled to the window. The lawn was still white with the unmelted hoar-frost, and the gardener was busy in the beds, putting things tidy for the winter. This consisted in plucking up anything of vegetable origin and carrying it off in a wheelbarrow. Thus the beds were ready to receive the first bedded-out plants next May.
“I remember, my dear,” said Henry, “that you once thought that there had been some—some understanding between Mrs. Evans and Major Ames, and some misunderstanding between Major Ames and Dr. Evans.”
Mrs. Altham brought her eyebrows together and put her finger on her forehead.
“I seem to remember some ridiculous story of yours, Henry, about a bunch of chrysanthemums in the road outside Dr. Evans’ house, how you had seen Major Ames take them in, and there they were afterwards in the road. I seem to remember your being so much excited about it that I made a point of going round to Mrs. Ames’ next day with—with a book. I think that at the time—correct me if I am wrong—I convinced you that there was nothing whatever in it.... Or have you seen or heard anything since that makes you think differently?” she added rather more briskly.
“No, my dear, nothing whatever,” said he.