Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/133

 your friends, Paul, only you've known some strange people in your old bohemian days—I'll never forget that ridiculous Bunny—and now that you're in business I had hoped. ..

Paul rose, stretching himself, and yawned again.

Still—she was consoling herself aloud for the ineffectuality of her remonstrance—Campaspe knows him. There must be something.

There is, Vera, I assure you, there is something. Bending over her chair he lightly brushed the back of her head with his lips. When he had departed, the tears coursed slowly down the lonely woman's chubby cheeks. Mr. Whittaker, stern, unyielding in the matter of his prejudices, with a firmly fixed idea that a wife's place was in her home, had ruled her with his strong will, and now Paul Moody was able, she had discovered, to rule her by his very nonchalance. Well, she reflected, to salve the pain of the knowledge, men must work and women must weep.

Paul did not call the car from the garage, nor did he hail a taxi. He had donned a heavy, waterproof coat and, without the protection of an umbrella, he strode with long paces through the rain-swept streets. The beating of the stinging drops against his cheeks invigorated and refreshed him. His customary cheerful spirit returned. Life was amusing, after all. Work was amusing. Even Vera contributed her share to the savour of his