“If you object to her visit,” Peter Ruff said quietly, “it is my wife whom you must blame.”
John Dory relaxed his hand and took a quick step backwards.
“Your wife?” he muttered.
“Exactly!” Peter Ruff answered. “Maud—Mrs. Dory—called to see me; she was ill—she had lost her situation—she was even, I believe, faint and hungry. I was not present. My wife talked to her and was sorry for her. While the two women were there together, your wife fainted. She was put to bed in our one spare room, and she has been shown every attention and care. Tell me, how long is it since you were at home?”
“Not for ten days,” Dory answered, bitterly. “Why?”
“Because when you go back, you will find your wife there,” Peter Ruff answered. “She has given up the stage. Her one desire is to settle down and repay you for the trouble she has caused you. You needn’t believe me unless you like. Ask my wife. She is here. She will tell you.”
Dory was overcome. He went back to his seat by the window, and he buried his face for a moment in his hands.
“Ruff,” he said, “I don’t deserve this. I’ve had bad times lately, though. Everything has gone against me. I think I have been a bit careless, with the troubles at home and that.”
“Stop!” Peter Ruff insisted. “Now I come to the immediate object of my visit to you. You have had some bad luck at headquarters. I know of it. I am going to help you to reinstate yourself brilliantly. With that, let us shake hands and bury all the soreness that there may be between us.”
John Dory stared at his visitor.