There was no answer.
"I must say you have a knack of making a man's home uncommonly pleasant for him."
Still no answer. Perhaps there were none left. One may come to an end of answers sometimes, like other things—money, for instance.
"Is my breakfast ordered for half-past seven, sharp?"
"Yes."
"Poached eggs?"
"Yes, and stewed kidneys. I hope they will be right this time. And I've told Martha to call you at seven punctually."
"All right. Good night."
"Good night."
That had been their parting in this world, Colonel Tempest remembered bitterly, for he had been too much hurried next morning to run up to say good-bye before starting for Scotland. Those had been the last words his wife had spoken to him, the woman for whom he had given up his liberty. So much for woman's love and tenderness.