"Then you can eat it!" Mrs. Bundercombe snapped. "Not a mouthful of food do I take in this place with that painted hussy sitting by Joseph's side a few feet away! Oh, I'll fix him when I get him home!"
She drew a little breath between her teeth, but she was as good as her word. She refused all food and sat with her arms folded, glaring across at Mr. Bundercombe's table. My admiration for that man of genius was never greater than on that day. So far from hurrying over his luncheon, he seemed inclined to prolong it.
There was no lack of conversation between him and his companion. They even lingered over their coffee and they were still at the table when Eve and I had finished and Mrs. Bundercombe was sipping the hot water, the only thing that passed her lips during the entire meal. I paid the bill and rose. Mrs. Bundercombe, after a moment's hesitation, followed us.
"Eve and I thought of going into the Academy for a few minutes," I said tentatively as we reached the entrance hall.
Mrs. Bundercombe plumped herself down on a high-backed chair within a yard of the door.
"I," she announced, "shall wait here for Joseph!"
I realized the futility of any attempt to dissuade her; so we left her there, spent an hour at the Academy and did a little shopping. On our way back an idea occurred to me. We reentered the restaurant. Mrs. Bundercombe was still sitting there in a corner of the hall.
"Thinks he can tire me out, perhaps!" she remarked in an explanatory manner. "Well, he just can't—that's all!"
I moved a few steps farther in and glanced down the restaurant. Then I returned.
"But, my dear Mrs. Bundercombe," I said, "your husband has gone long ago!
He went out the other way. I am not sure—but I believe we saw him in Bond
Street quite three quarters of an hour ago."