Hugh got no farther. He crushed the paper into a ball and flung it out of the window, muttering viciously under his breath.
"Backed a stiff 'un?" said his neighbour, sympathetically. "I've had five in succession."
He walked from the station a little quicker than usual. There was nothing for it but drastic economy; and as for any idea of the little car Doris was so keen on, it simply couldn't be done. Anyway, as the agent had told him over the 'phone that morning, there was no chance of delivery for at least six months. Had advised getting a secondhand one if urgently needed—except that, of course, at the present moment they were more expensive than new ones. But still one could get one at once—in fact, he had one. Only three-fifty.
Hugh hung up his hat in the hall and stepped into the drawing-room. He could see Doris outside working in the garden, but for a moment or two he made no movement to join her. His eyes were fixed on the huge, luxurious ottoman, covered with wonderful fat cushions. It was undoubtedly the most comfortable thing he had ever sat on: it was made to be sat on, and nightly it was sat on—by both of them. It was the recipient of those intensely personal things so monotonous to the Philistine; and it had cost, with cushions and trappings complete, one hundred and twenty Bradburys.
He was still looking at it thoughtfully when the girl came in through the open window.
"I want a great big kiss, ever so quick, please," she announced, going up to him. "One more. Thank you!"
With his hands on her shoulders he held her away from him, and she smiled up into his eyes.
"I very nearly came and looked you up in your grubby old office to-day," she said, putting his tie straight. "And then I knew that I'd get on a bus going the wrong way, and I hadn't enough money for a taxi. I'd spent it all on a treat for you."
Almost abruptly his arms dropped to his sides.
"I didn't know you were coming up, darling," he said, pulling out his cigarette-case.