Hugh’s voice rose shrilly.
“And he hadn’t even read it, not even a review of it this time!” he said. “What does the man mean? Does he think that because he wears an all-round collar he has the gift of divination, so that he can pronounce on things he has never set eyes on?”
“Did you say all this?” asked Edith. “Did you quarrel with him?”
“Yes, but of course when I’d finished I asked him to shake hands. I didn’t say a word that wasn’t true. And he refused. He said he would shake hands when I expressed regret for all I had said. He couldn’t answer me back; there was nothing to say. That’s what he couldn’t forgive.”
“Tell me exactly what happened, all you said to him,” said Edith gravely.
Hugh was so worked up again by now that it is to be feared he recounted the interview with gusto, and the completeness with which he seemed to have expressed himself rather appalled his wife.
“And if you ask me if I’m sorry,” he concluded, “I’m not. He has a nasty mind and it has been my privilege to tell him so. Agnes has got a nasty mind, too. She used not to have; she used to have quite a nice one, like mine, but he has corrupted her. Bother! I wish I’d told him that. I thought of it, but I forgot again. I shall send him a postcard about it.”
Edith could not help laughing at this.
“Ah! do write it Hugh,” she said, “and then tear it up. That is such an excellent plan. If I feel very angry with anyone I do that. I don’t know that it’s a particularly Christian thing to do, but it is such a relief. You gravely write down all the nasty things you can think of, and state them in the most cutting manner. Won’t you try it?”
Hugh shook his head.