"It's no more than the truth," he answered, with a touch of defiance. "Lord, how you women, and the children you give us, complicate life for a man! Yet it's not worth a brass farthing without you both."
"Thank you for owning that much!—Now I must write my note, and see about packing. Come up soon, dear. There's an endless deal to do before we can think of going to bed."
On his way up to join her twenty minutes later, Desmond looked into Lenox's small room. Zyarulla had strewn the floor with books, boots, clothes, and a couple of boxes, preparatory to going into action. His master, enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke, sat afar off directing the plan of campaign. A great peace pervaded his aspect, and the unmistakable fragrance that filled the room brought two deep lines into Desmond's forehead.
"Just looked in to find out how you were getting on," said he. "Not seen O'Malley already, have you?"
"No. But his verdict is a foregone conclusion, so we're going ahead with things. Your wife's not really coming, is she?"
"Yes. I did my best to prevent it; but there's no gainsaying her."
"Great Scott, she's a plucky woman! You must have plenty to see to both of you. Don't let me keep you, old chap, I'm all right."
"Glad to hear it. You'll sleep. That's certain. But I wish to goodness you'd given Nature a chance."
"Nature wouldn't have given me a chance," the other answered with sudden heat. "And there's a limit to what a man can stand. By the way," he added in an altered tone, "I can't tell you how sorry I am about Wyndham. But you must hope for the best."
"Thanks," Desmond answered quietly. "Good-night."