Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. She was looking anxiously at the entrance to the restaurant. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. She saw herself building up a life upon that —a life restrained, kindly, beautiful, a little pathetic and altogether dignified; a life of great disciplines and suppressions and extensive reserves. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. Enough's as good as a feast of the dainties you provide. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. I am safe while I am there, for I have had bolts fitted everywhere, and a pane of glass in the front door. But I’m not a slut either, if that’s what you think.
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