Page:Restless Earth.djvu/23

“Rot! I want a little consideration, that’s all. Yqu seem to take a delight, lately, in doing everything you can to interrupt my work. If it isn’t cabbage it’s some other beastly smell; or you sing some idiotic endless tune as you bang into things when you’re sweeping the place. I can’t understand what’s come over you.”

Grace had walked into the hall then and had returned with his hat.

“Go and walk yourself into a better temper, my dear,” was all she said; and he had slammed the back door as he took her at her word.

Shortly after the cabbage episode he had begun to realise that Patricia Weybourn was less ultra- than charmingly-smart; but just when he awoke to the fact that he had fallen in love with his wife’s friend he had never discovered. The awakening had been gradual and painful, for he had fought his conscience every moment of the time. He had known that in Grace he had the well-nigh perfect wife; and, in Joan, such a child as the most fastidious parent might pray for; and he had fought back at the insidious adventuring of his heart.

One evening, when they had had friends for bridge he had drawn Patricia as partner. On that occasion he played in a masterly manner; and Patricia had been pleased to smile upon him and inform their opponents that it was something of a surprise to her to find that authors might be the possessors of reasoning minds, after all.

He had laughed at the time, but later, when he had accompanied her to the tram-car, he had taken the matter up with her seriously.

“Why should it surprise you to find that authors have reasoning minds?”

“Well, for one thing, inspiration is supposed to be the source of all good stories.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I was under the impression that you considered all my stories futile trash.”