"I thank you, Mr. Rawn," said Halsey, taking a single cigar from the box which his host had placed upon the near-by tabouret. "I think I'll be content with one. I mustn't get into bad habits; I'm afraid Jim Sullivan and I can't afford them at two dollars apiece just yet!"
III
He moved now quietly and dutifully apart toward the end of the gallery where sat a less resplendent figure, that of his wife, Grace. She had not risen to meet him.
"Well," said he, as he sank into a seat beside her.
"Well, then?" she answered, and turned upon him a face dour, inexpressive, pasty, almost frowning.
"Is that all you have to say to me?" she began later, as he sat smoking.
"I haven't had much chance yet," he commented.
"No, I should say not! This is the first time you've been here for four weeks! Have you stopped to think of that? You seem to care little enough how I get on!"
Halsey paused for a moment before replying. "That hardly seems fair to me."
"Why isn't it fair? It's the truth."