"Surely you don't want him after this?"
"I want him," she replied very slowly, as if feeling for the right words, "exactly as much as I've wanted him for many years, Mr. Crichell."
As she spoke they heard the rattle of a latchkey in the front door.
"That's Ferdie," she said hastily. "Oh, you won't have a quarrel with him, will you?"
"No. I've already seen him—I've nothing more to say. How can I get out without meeting him?"
With pathetic knowledge of her husband, she bade him stay where he was.
"I'll tell him you're here, and he'll go into the dining-room."
At the foot of the stairs she met Walbridge taking off his coat, a curiously boyish look in his face. "Ferdie," she said quietly, "Mr. Crichell's in the girls' room."
With a little smile of almost bitter amusement, she watched him as he tiptoed into the dining-room and closed the door.
When Crichell had gone she joined her husband. He was smoking and walking up and down, a glass of whisky and soda in his hand.