“I thought you were going to be busy,” she remarked, very carefully.
“So I was,” he exclaimed. “I couldn’t help the interruption, but I made up for it afterward by working until two.”
This settled the discussion for the time being, but there was a residue of opinion which was not satisfactory. There was no time at which the claims of his wife could have been more unsatisfactorily pushed. For years he had been steadily modifying his matrimonial devotion, and found her company dull. Now that a new light shone upon the horizon, this older luminary paled in the west. He was satisfied to turn his face away entirely, and any call to look back was irksome.
She, on the contrary, was not at all inclined to accept anything less than a complete fulfilment of the letter of their relationship, though the spirit might be wanting.
“We are coming down town this afternoon,” she remarked, a few days later. “I want you to come over to Kinsley’s and meet Mr. Phillips and his wife. They’re stopping at the Tremont, and we’re going to show them around a little.”
After the occurrence of Wednesday, he could not refuse, though the Phillips were about as uninteresting as vanity and ignorance could make them. He agreed, but it was with short grace. He was angry when he left the house.
“I’ll put a stop to this,” he thought. “I’m not going to be bothered fooling around with visitors when I have work to do.”
Not long after this Mrs. Hurstwood came with a similar proposition, only it was to a matinée this time.
“My dear,” he returned, “I haven’t time. I’m too busy.”
“You find time to go with other people, though,” she replied, with considerable irritation.