Having stared gravely at a dusty card, which we all knew by heart, Anne turned her face and, raising her eyebrows about an eighth of an inch, shrugged her shoulders very slightly and passed on.
But on the present occasion there was, so far as I was aware, no domestic friction—we had boiled the hens—and I was, I admit, at a loss.
"Come, Herbert," said Anne gently. Then I knew that we were bankrupt—I mean, of course, more bankrupt. I knew that the Government, having crouched in leash, had sprung with a snarl upon the married man of forty-five.
We seated ourselves in Anne's room just as persons do upon the stage, Anne, leaning against the shutter, stared dreamily out of the window.
"Tell me," I said.
Anne is a great artist. She dabbed at her cheeks—but lightly, as though scorned a tear—smiled bravely at me with moist eyes, and, walking to the mantelpiece, adjusted a Dresden shepherdess.
"You have heard me speak of the Ruritanian Relief Fund," she said in a splendid off-hand tone.
"Frequently," I responded, but not impatiently.
"It was, you remember, the only possible fund when dear Lady Rogerson heard about the War. All the other allied countries had been snapped up—there seemed for a while no chance, no hope. Lady Rogerson was so brave. She said to me at the time, 'My dear we will not give in—we have as much right as anyone else to hold meetings and ask for money.'"
"And so you did, dear—surely you have been in the thick of it. Constantly have I seen appeals for Ruritania in the Press."