“Good God!” he said. “You don’t mean to say you were such an ass as to marry! No wonder you’re in the blues.”
Matthew Strang was silent. There was a painful pause.
“But you’ve kept it pretty dark,” Herbert said, at last. “Everybody seems to look upon you as a bachelor.”
“I know,” replied the painter. “I’ve always lived a lonely life, and I don’t speak about my affairs.”
“I’m sorry I touched upon them, then.”
“No. I can talk with you.”
“Thanks, old man.” And Herbert took his friend’s hand and pressed it sympathetically. “You’re not living with her, anyhow, and that’s something.”
“Oh, but I am living with her—at least, I go home sometimes. It’s not quite my fault—it’s grown up gradually. She lives in Camden Town.”
“Alone?”
“Oh no! There’s Billy—that’s my young brother—to keep her company. And then there’s the children.”