"I don't want any soup,"he said to Warmson,and sat down in his chair.They all sat down too,Winifred still in her hat,while Warmson laid the fourth place.When he left the room,James said:
"What's he brought back?"
"Nothing,Father."
James concentrated his eyes on his own image in a tablespoon.
"Divorce!"he muttered;"rubbish!What was I about?I ought to have paid him an allowance to stay out of England.Soames you go and propose it to him."It seemed so right and simple a suggestion that even Winifred was surprised when she said:"No,I'll keep him now he's back;he must just behave--that's all."They all looked at her.It had always been known that Winifred had pluck.
"Out there!"said James elliptically,"who knows what cut-throats!
You look for his revolver!Don't go to bed without.You ought to have Warmson to sleep in the house.I'll see him myself tomorrow."They were touched by this declaration,and Emily said comfortably:
"That's right,James,we won't have any nonsense.""Ah!"muttered James darkly,"I can't tell."
The advent of Warmson with fish diverted conversation.
When,directly after dinner,Winifred went over to kiss her father good-night,he looked up with eyes so full of question and distress that she put all the comfort she could into her voice.
"It's all right,Daddy,dear;don't worry.I shan't need anyone--he's quite bland.I shall only be upset if you worry.Good-night,bless you!"James repeated the words,"Bless you!"as if he did not quite know what they meant,and his eyes followed her to the door.
She reached home before nine,and went straight upstairs.
Dartie was lying on the bed in his dressing-room,fully redressed in a blue serge suit and pumps;his arms were crossed behind his head,and an extinct cigarette drooped from his mouth.
Winifred remembered ridiculously the flowers in her window-boxes after a blazing summer day;the way they lay,or rather stood--parched,yet rested by the sun's retreat.It was as if a little dew had come already on her burnt-up husband.