XII
“Ursula Ardfern is leaving the stage and is going to live in the country.”
Tab made the announcement one evening when he came home from the office.
Rex scarcely seemed interested.
“Oh?” said Rex.
That was all he said. He seemed as disinclined as Tab to discuss the lady.
It was his last night at the Doughty Street flat. He was still suffering from shock, and his doctor had advised a trip abroad. He had suggested that at the end of his vacation he would return to Doughty Street, but on this point Tab was firm.
“You have a lot of money, Babe,” he said seriously, “and a man who has a lot of money has also a whole lot of responsibilities. There are about a hundred and forty-five reasons why our little menage should be broken up, and the most important from my point of view is, that I will not be demoralized by living cheek by jowl with a man of millions. You have a certain place to take in society, certain duties to perform, and you can’t keep up the position that you are entitled to keep, in a half-flat in Doughty Street. I don’t suppose you ever want to go to Mayfield to live.”
Rex shuddered.
“I don’t,” he said with great earnestness. “I shall shut the place up and let it stand for a few years, until the memory of the crime is forgotten, and then perhaps somebody will buy it. I am pretty comfortable here, Tab.”