Annabel laughed gaily.
“My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?”
“You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. “To me it seems serious enough. I have fulfilled my part of our marriage contract. Can you wonder that I expect you to fulfil yours?”
“I am not aware,” she answered, “that I have ever failed in doing so.”
“You are at least aware,” he said, “that you have on several recent occasions acted in direct opposition to my wishes.”
“For example?”
“Your dyed hair. I was perfectly satisfied with your appearance. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. Then you have altered not only that, but your manner of dressing it. You have darkened your eyebrows, you have even changed your style of dress. You have shown an almost feverish anxiety to eliminate from your personal appearance all that reminded me of you—when we first met.”
“Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. You forget that every one is going to the ‘Unusual’ to see her.”
He frowned heavily.
“I wish that I could forget it,” he said. “Fortunately I believe that the relationship is not generally known. I trust that no unpleasant rumours will be circulated before the election, at any rate.”