And Daniel went, slowly, reluctantly. He was scarcely past the sill, his hands still upon the knob of the door, when that door was closed from within with a slam. He made one more effort to speak, but he heard the key turn and his wife's voice commanding him to go away. He descended the stairs to the library and threw himself into a chair. Mr. Hungerford, smoking one of his host's cigars and reading the evening paper, looked at him curiously and asked what was the matter.
Daniel turned on him. “Nothin',” he roared. “Nothin', do you hear?” Then he rushed from the library to the hall, seized his hat and coat from the rack and hurried out of the house. He walked and walked, but if, upon his return, anyone had asked him where he had walked he could not have told them. This was the first serious quarrel that he and his wife had had during their married life.
It was half-past seven when he returned and found Azuba fidgeting in the dining-room. It was Mr. Hapgood's free evening and he had left early.
“For mercy sakes!” Azuba demanded. “Where have you been?”
“Out!” was the gloomy rejoinder. “Where's the rest of the folks?”
“Gone to Chapter meetin'.”
“Both of 'em?”
“Yes. It was an open meeting and Mr. Hungerford went along, too. Where are you goin' now? Don't you want anything to eat? It's been waitin' for you for an hour.”
“Let it wait; I don't want it.”
He walked from the room. Azuba gazed after him open-mouthed.