“Who can tell what is yourself? Last night I wanted the freedom of my youth. Now I am ready to take the other thing, which makes us old,—pain. Good-by.”
He still held her hand, and she smiled at him, aloof. Just then a man’s voice sounded from inside the house, and Simmons poked his head out of the drawing-room window.
“Oh! You here, Evelyn?”
Perceiving Vessinger, he added gruffly:
“Where is Jane or some one? I must be off to-night, and I want them to pack my bag and give me some dinner!”
“How are you, Simmons?” the doctor called out in his cool manner. “Come out here and let’s have a look at you!”
“I’m all right, Vessinger,” Simmons answered sulkily, stepping through the window.
“That was a great performance you gave us last night, Simmons, a triumph! I never heard anything better. Your waving that glass over the Bellflower’s crown of false hair was magnificent!”
Simmons glowered at the man and looked furtively at his wife. She seemed to be gazing at something at the other end of the lawn.
“Oh!” Simmons muttered. “Damn nonsense!”