"But—Is Mrs. Henry taken ill?"
"Not as I know of," said the man dryly. "But her and the boss had a bit of a tiff on the way home, and Madam's excited-like."
"And am I to pay for their tiffs?" muttered Mahony hotly.
"Hush, Richard! He'll hear you," warned Mary, and sat up.
"I shall decline to go. Henry's a regular old woman."
Mary shook her head. "You can't afford to offend the Henrys. And you know what he is so hasty. He'd call in some one else on the spot, and you'd never get back. If only you hadn't stayed out so long, dear, looking at the moon!"
"Good God! Mary, is one never to have a moment to oneself? Never a particle of pleasure or relaxation?"
"Why, Richard!" expostulated his wife, and even felt a trifle ashamed of his petulance. "What would you call to-night, I wonder? Wasn't the whole evening one of pleasure and relaxation?"
And Mahony, struggling into shirt and trousers, had to admit that he would be hard put to it to give it another name.