Tarbot was waiting impatiently for his breakfast. Clara swept to the head of her table, sat down with what the footman was pleased to call a marchioness air, and poured out the coffee. The servants left the room, and the husband and wife were alone together.
“I shall want a maid,” said Clara, raising her eyes to Tarbot’s face.
“A maid!” he exclaimed. “You! What in the name of fortune for?”
“I, as much as another,” she answered. “Do you suppose I can attend to my own clothes and the thousand and one things which a maid ought to do for a fine lady? Whatever I was in the past, I am now your wife and a fine lady, and as such I must have a maid. I shall go to Mrs. Mount to-day and secure one.”
“As you please,” replied Tarbot. “Now I have eaten enough, and must be off. Don’t expect me to lunch. After I have seen my patients I shall drive round to the hospital. To-morrow, of course, I shall be in to receive patients from ten to one as usual, but to-day I am simply going to announce my return to town.”
“By the way,” said Clara as he rose from the table, “what about Miss Evershed?”
Tarbot gave an involuntary start. Clara noticed a sort of quiver which seemed to run through his frame. He was standing with his back to her; now he turned slowly.
“Miss Evershed, why?”
“When is she to be married?”
“I don’t know. I have heard nothing either of her or Pelham for the last fortnight.”