“I believe,” said Regina, who before all things was loyal to her Alfred, “I believe that all persons inclining to stoutness would be better in health, and in mind too, if they would take means to keep themselves to proper proportions. Oh, Dr. Money-Berry is quite right in saying that fat is a disease, and should be treated as such. I have been to him once or twice lately because I was not sure that my symptoms were desirable. I am really going to him to-day to say good-by for the second time. Don’t worry about me, darling child, and don’t discuss your father with Maudie. I have never entered into details of business and I never intend to. Your father distinctly told me that he was dining with somebody on business; it would be intolerable for him, placed as he is, if his wife were to worry him to death every time he spoke to another woman. Dear little girl, you’ll be marrying one of these days, and you’ll have a husband of your own; then you will realize that between husband and wife discretion is truly the better part of valor. And I wish you would put that incident right out of your head—regard it as a business matter—and not think of it every time you think I am not looking as gay as usual. You know, my darling, I have many thoughts busying to and fro in my brain. I have never been a mere machine for ordering dinner, and although I have given up public life, I have not given up all my thoughts—I still have an intellect. Your father is the best and noblest man I ever knew. One of these days he will explain what, so far, he has only told me in part. But I must be going, I am rather late already. Tell me, are you occupied all day?”
“Yes, that is to say, I am lunching with Maudie, and then I am going on to my club.”
“No, come and have tea at mine. I shall expect you between half-past four and five.”
“Right you are, mother.”
And then Mrs. Whittaker went out, passed down the tessellated covered way and turned her face toward the station, conscious that she had that day graduated as a first-class liar. Well, if she had lied, she had lied in a good cause. If she had succeeded in restoring the faith of her child in husband and father, she had lied to some purpose, and surely the recording angel would drop showers of tears over the spot, and it would be blotted out forever. Her thoughts had reached this point when she reached the ticket office. She had to stand and wait for some time while two ladies fumbled with their purses, and while they discussed whether they would travel first or second.
“First-class to Baker Street—oh, yes, it’s horrid on that line, I always go first to Baker Street—and, my dear, if I didn’t meet him the very next day, walking along with a creature—oh! Twopence more? Thank you, I’m so sorry to give you so much trouble—yes, I met him walking with a bold, brazen hussy, and I never saw a man looking so crestfallen as Mr. Whittaker did when he saw me.”
There was a little waiting-room hard by the ticket office and Regina turned sharply round and took refuge in this dingy little retreat.
“My dear!” said the lady who had been listening to the one who had mentioned Mr. Whittaker’s name, “you have done the most awful thing you ever did in your life. Mrs. Whittaker was standing just behind you, and she heard every word you said.”
“Poor woman! Did she, really? I am sorry! Well, I never believe in making mischief between husband and wife, but it’s a shame, and I do think that a man who is carrying on a double game ought to be found out.”