“Coming to church?” said Miriam after she had cleared away.
“Rather. I got a lot to be grateful for,” said Mr. Polly.
“You got what you deserve,” said Miriam.
“Suppose I have,” said Mr. Polly, and went and stared out of the back window at a despondent horse in the hotel yard.
He was still standing there when Miriam came downstairs dressed for church. Something in his immobility struck home to her. “You’d better come to church than mope,” she said.
“I shan’t mope,” he answered.
She remained still for a moment. Her presence irritated him. He felt that in another moment he should say something absurd to her, make some last appeal for that understanding she had never been able to give. “Oh! go to church!” he said.
In another moment the outer door slammed upon her. “Good riddance!” said Mr. Polly.
He turned about. “I’ve had my whack,” he said.
He reflected. “I don’t see she’ll have any cause to holler,” he said. “Beastly Home! Beastly Life!”