“I don’t know—only I’m awfully, awfully glad. It’s—I haven’t met many people lately—and your asking him—here, I— What would you like for lunch?”
“Heaven knows! Any notepaper? I’ll drop him a line.”
That night Eve lay awake and her thoughts were good to own. They began nowhere and travelled everywhere—out into the unknown and beyond. And because of a sudden intense happiness she forgot all manner of doubts which of late had oppressed and haunted her.
She rose early and took a pretty dress from a drawer—a dress which, because he seemed not to care about these things, she foolishly had never worn before him. When she returned from the shops she was laden with parcels, and light of heart.
Wynne was standing in the sitting-room with an expression of some displeasure upon his face. The spring sunshine coming through the windows emphasized the shabbiness of the furniture and appointments. A golden shaft caught Eve’s face as she entered, and made her radiant. But Wynne did not look toward her. His eyes rested on the tufts of horsehair projecting from the upholstery of the old armchair—the sunken springs, and the threadbare dilapidation of the carpet.
“I’ve bought a sole,” said Eve, “and some cutlets and peas, and I’ll make an omelette with apricot jam—”
“Yes—all right,” said Wynne.
“But I must hurry, for there’s a fearsome lot to do.”
Away she went to the kitchen, where she donned an apron, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work.
Never since the early days of her marriage had she set about her duties so happily.