Mrs. Baxter sniffed.
“Well, I call it an insult!”
“Call it what you will, my dear woman, but I need rest—like other people, and I must go.”
And go he did, leaving two sour and quarrelsome faces at the farm-house door.
At Lombard Street, Catherine was waiting for her husband after putting Gwen and Jack to bed. She rose anxiously at the sound of the car, and met Murchison in the hall. His face shocked her even in the shaded lamplight. He looked like a man who had come through some great travail.
“James, dear—how—”
“I’m through with it, thank God!”
“Safely?”
“Yes.”
“Well done—well done. I know how you have suffered.”