“Of course, go by all means.”
He was glad for two reasons, because he knew she liked the importance of leading the choir, and because he would have these evenings alone with the children—his children—who had been born in reality as he stood looking down at them a moment before.
“Good-night, Naomi,” he said abruptly.
“Philip....”
“Yes.”
“Philip, you won’t stay?”
“No, Naomi.... It wouldn’t look right.”
There was a pause.
“Sometimes you’re like your mother, Philip.”
He went out and in his agitation found himself halfway down the flimsy pine stairway before he remembered his overcoat. When he returned and opened the door of the little flat, he heard the sound of sobbing, a horrible choked sound, coming from the bedroom. She had not made a scene. She had not wept until he was gone, for she was trying to please him.