“Wait till I have got my boots off.” He spoke in a rather honeyed voice to his wife.
“Do you happen to know where my slippers are, darling?”
“I haven’t the least idea,” said Clare.
Herbert seemed nettled at this answer.
“In the old days you used to warm them for me,” he said.
“Did I?” said Clare. “I have forgotten. It was a long time ago.”
“Eight years.”
At these words Clare looked over to her husband in a peculiar way.
“Yes,” she said. “It is our eighth year.”
“Here are your slippers, dear,” said Mrs. Hey wood.