My wife fell under a fatal
influence which lasted, practically unchecked, until the day, if not the
very hour, of her death. Do I blame her? No--a thousand times no! You see
me, a plain man, considerably her senior. _I_ had not the gift of writing
impassioned love passages in which she could display her artistic genius.
When I came home from the City, tired after the day's work, _she_ was
just beginning hers. You know what London fashionable life is--the
theater, a supper, a dance, some great lady's 'reception,' and the rest
of it. Ah, me! The stage, and literature, and the arts generally are not
for poor fellows moiling in a City office. You gentlemen, I take it, are
all happily married--"
"I'm not," said Elkin, "but I'll lay you long odds I will be soon."
For some reason, this remark produced a certain uneasiness among his
friends. Tomlin stared at the ash of one of the cigars "stood" by this
talkative Londoner; Hobbs, whose glass had reached a low level again,
examined the dregs almost fiercely; and Siddle seemed to be about to say
something, but, with his usual restraint, kept silent. Then Ingerman made
a very shrewd guess, and wondered who Doris Martin was, and what Hobbs's
cryptic allusion had meant.
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