"A wife who lives at Garden Green does not count," he assured her. "Besides, it was the other fellow who married her. She isn't really my wife at all. It would be most improper of me to pretend that she was."
"You are much too complicated a person to live in the same house with," she sighed. "I shall do as I said. I shall ask Mr. Bomford down for the week-end."
"Then I shall go back to London," he pronounced, firmly.
A shadow fell across the grass.
"What's that—what's that?" the professor demanded, anxiously.
They both looked up quickly. The professor had just put in one of his unexpected appearances. He had a habit of shuffling about in felt slippers which were altogether inaudible.
"Miss Edith was speaking of asking a visitor—a Mr. Bomford—down for the week-end," Burton explained suavely. "I somehow felt that I should not like him. In any case, I have been here for a week and I really ought—"
"Edith will do nothing of the sort," the professor declared, sharply.
"Do you hear that, Edith? No one is to be asked here at all. Mr.
Burton's convenience is to be consulted before any one's."
She yawned and made a face at Burton.
"Very well, father," she replied meekly, "only I might just as well not be engaged at all."