“Very well, dear.”
Herbert stood in front of the fireplace and rattled the keys in his pocket moodily.
“What’s the good of toiling to keep a home together if one’s wife abandons her husband’s society on every possible pretext? A home! This place is just a receiving office for begging letters and notices for committees and subcommittees.”
Mrs. Heywood sighed.
“It might have been worse, Herbert.”
“As far as I’m concerned, it couldn’t be worse. I’m the most miserable wretch in London. Without a job and without a wife.”
“You’ll get a place all right, dear. You have the promise of one already. And you know Clare’s health was in a very queer state before Miss Vernon made her take an interest in helping other people. I was seriously alarmed about her.”
“What about me?” asked Herbert. “No one troubles to get alarmed about me.”
“Are you unwell, dear?” said Mrs. Hey-wood anxiously.
“Of course I’m unwell.”