I'm afraid they've
been overworking you again at the office."
"No--it's not that: do you mind if I open the
window?" he returned confusedly, letting down the pane
on his side. He sat staring out into the street, feeling his
wife beside him as a silent watchful interrogation, and
keeping his eyes steadily fixed on the passing houses.
At their door she caught her skirt in the step of the
carriage, and fell against him.
"Did you hurt yourself?" he asked, steadying her
with his arm.
"No; but my poor dress--see how I've torn it!" she
exclaimed. She bent to gather up a mud-stained breadth,
and followed him up the steps into the hall. The servants
had not expected them so early, and there was
only a glimmer of gas on the upper landing.
Archer mounted the stairs, turned up the light, and
put a match to the brackets on each side of the library
mantelpiece. The curtains were drawn, and the warm
friendly aspect of the room smote him like that of a
familiar face met during an unavowable errand.
He noticed that his wife was very pale, and asked if
he should get her some brandy.
"Oh, no," she exclaimed with a momentary flush, as
she took off her cloak. "But hadn't you better go to
bed at once?" she added, as he opened a silver box on
the table and took out a cigarette.
Archer threw down the cigarette and walked to his
usual place by the fire.
"No; my head is not as bad as that." He paused.
"And there's something I want to say; something
important--that I must tell you at once.
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