"Well, wait a little longer," the elder man urged again. "It's early days yet, and you never know what will happen."
"I know what won't happen, though," said Forrester grimly.
He went back to the flat disconsolately. He heard Peg laughing as he let himself in, and the silence that fell as soon as his steps sounded in the passage.
The two girls were together in the sitting-room with which Faith had been so delighted when she first visited it, but it was Peg who greeted him as he entered.
She had made herself quite at home, and, in spite of a certain bluntness and vulgarity of which she would never rid herself as long as she lived, she seemed to have improved.
She was dressed more quietly and her hair was neater, but she still wore the gipsy earrings which Forrester hated so much.
She had been living in the flat a fortnight then—a year it seemed to Forrester. And he wondered, as he looked at his wife, why it was that, with each day, the gulf between them seemed to widen.
He smiled rather pathetically as her eyes met his.
"I've been thinking," he said. "What about a run down to see the twins? I'll take you in the car."