"Cold as a cod," nodded Cecil. "Merry times ahead for Clive."
And on another occasion, later in the summer, somebody said in the cool dusk of the room:
"It's true that the Bailey Juniors are living permanently in England. I saw Clive in Scotland when I was fishing out Banff way. He says they're remaining abroad indefinitely."
Some man's voice asked how Clive was looking.
"Not very fit; thin and old. I was with him several times that month and I never saw him crack a smile. That's not like him, you know."
"What is it? His wife?"
"Well, I fancy it lies somewhere between his mother and his wife—this pre-glacial freeze-up that's made a bally mummy of him."
And still again, and in the tobacco-scented dusk of Athalie's room, and once more from a man who had just returned from abroad:
"I kept running into Clive everywhere. He seems to haunt the continent, turning up like a ghost here and there; and believe me he looks the part of the lonely spook."
"Where's his Missis?"