“Of course not! But you must hurry up and get well and come back.”
When at length she set off, and Basil found himself Frank’s guest, he could not suppress a faint sigh of relief. It was very delightful to live again in a bachelor’s rooms, and he loved the smell of smoke, the untidy litter of books, the lack of responsibility. There was no need to do anything he did not like, and, for the first time since his marriage he felt entirely comfortable. Recalling his pleasant rooms in the Temple, and there was about them an old-world air which amiably fitted his humour, he thought of the long conversations of those days, the hours of reverie, the undisturbed ease with which he could read books; and he shuddered at the poky villa which was now his home, the worries of housekeeping, and the want of privacy. He had meant his life to be so beautiful, and it was merely sordid.
“There are advantages in single blessedness,” laughed the doctor, when he saw Basil after breakfast light his pipe, and putting his feet on the chimney-piece, lean back with a sigh of content.
But he regretted his words when he saw on the other’s mobile face a look of singular wistfulness. It was his first indication that things were not going very well with the young couple.
“By the way,” Frank suggested, presently, “would you care to come to a party to-night? Lady Edward Stringer is giving some sort of function, and there’ll be a lot of people you know.”
“I’ve been nowhere since my marriage,” Basil answered, irresolutely.
“I shall be seeing the old thing to-day. Shall I ask if I can bring you?”
“It would be awfully good of you. By Jove, I should enjoy it.” He gave a laugh. “I’ve not had evening clothes on for six months.”
II
Lady Edward Stringer said she would be delighted to see Basil that evening, and Frank, whose toilet was finished in a quarter of an hour, with scornful amusement watched the care wherewith the young man dressed. At last, with a final look at the glass, he turned round.