Herbert looked at his wife curiously, as though trying to discover some of those symptoms to which his mother had alluded.
“I’m afraid that’s your fault,” he said.
“My fault?”
“Surely you ought to stay at home sometimes and help me to get off decently,” said Herbert in an aggrieved way. “You know perfectly well my tie always goes wrong.”
Clare sighed; and then smiled rather miserably.
“Why can’t men learn to do their own ties? We’re living in the twentieth century, aren’t we?”
She took off her hat, and sat down with it in her lap.
“Oh, how my head aches to-night.”
“Where have you been?” asked Herbert
“Yes, dear, where have you been?” asked Mrs. Heywood.