“Well, I should like him to have black, flashing eyes—don’t you love black, flashing eyes—and dark curly hair, and long, white hands like the man in the novel, ‘Did He Love Her.’ I’ll just have to listen to his voice.... Must you go now? Oh, well, I suppose I mustn’t be selfish. Jack will be in soon. It’s rough on Jack me being like this, isn’t it? Only a log for a wife.... He’s better than I expected, because”—with a canny wag of her head—“Jack didn’t marry me to have me lying here, like this. Men like their women to be pretty lively and ‘on the go,’ especially when they marry someone of my sort. Poor old boy! I’m really fond of Jack, you know. He’s always treated me decently. I hope I’ll get well or else—— All right, yes, of course, I won’t worry. Come again to-morrow. Where are you going?”
“To my mother’s. She’s got a musical afternoon, and I must look in. Several grand opera stars and a great pianist. It will be very fireworky, I’m sure. Good-bye, dear.”
Fay kissed her hand gaily as Claudia smilingly withdrew.
In the hall she met Jack coming in.
“Hallo! Claud.” He heaved a deep sigh. “I say, this is breaking my heart.”
“Don’t think about your heart, think about hers,” said Claudia, putting her hand on his shoulder. He looked very dejected and some of the youth had gone out of his face. The contented, well-fed expression was flecked with something closely resembling unhappiness. “She is not likely to live for many years, and let’s try and make the best of it for her, Jacky boy.”
“It’s hell hearing her talk about her new songs and going to Paris with me.... I shall blurt out the truth one day, sure as Fate. It’s lucky I’ve got a stolid sort of look, but it breaks me up inside. I remember talking to you once about thinking too much and rootling about for meanings in life. Why should Fay have to die like this? She hasn’t harmed anyone!”
Claudia shook her head and was silent. Many greater minds than poor Jack’s had wrestled with that problem, and there had never been, and never would be, any answer. With Jack, his belated questioning was rather pathetic. He had never wanted to ask questions, he had been content just to live, and now his happy-go-lucky love for Fay had turned into tragedy.
As they stood there they could faintly hear the parrot in the distance still calling, “Chuck it! Chuck it!” accompanied by a hoarse chuckle that seemed to mock them with some uncanny knowledge. The little hall was tidy now, but it meant that its volatile mistress would never dash through it any more.
“I say, Claud,” said Jack, taking off his coat, “what’s come over Gilbert? I went into court to-day—a fellow I know was interested in an arbitration case, had money invested—and when we got there I found Gilbert had been briefed. He started splendidly in that ‘listen to me’ sort of manner, and then he got muddled. He couldn’t remember the name of the firm he was speaking about, and he had to ask his junior. Everybody was noticing it. Why, he used to have such a ripping memory! What’s wrong with the works?”