'I'm afraid your situation won't do for me,' she remarked.
That was all she said. She was perfectly dignified about it. Much as
she obviously condemned me, there was no noisy recrimination, no
violent vituperative outburst on her part. I followed in her wake to
the door. Even at the eleventh hour I hoped for a respite. 'Couldn't
something be arranged?' I faltered as my gaze wandered hungrily over
her capable-looking form. 'We might get you a gas-cooker--and all
that.'
Do not condemn me. Remember that my will had been weakened by
housework; six months of doing my own washing-up had brought me to my
knees. I was ready to agree to any terms that were offered me. The
applicant shook her head. There were too many obstacles in the way,
too many radical changes necessary before the place could be made
suitable for her. I realized finality in her answer, 'No, nothink,'
and closing the front door behind her, I returned to the study to
brood. I was still there, thinking bitterly, the shadows of the
evening creeping around me, when Henry came in.
'Hallo,' he said gruffly. 'No signs of dinner yet? Do you know the
time?'
And only six months ago (before this story opens) he would have
embraced me tenderly when he came in and said, 'How is the little
wifie-pifie to-night? I hope it hasn't been worrying its fluffy little
head with writing and making its hubby-wubby anxious?'
Perhaps you prefer Henry in the former role.
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