That was perhaps one
reason why he had not made a better thing of his life. So his wife was
not surprised when, after luncheon, he observed rather nervously that he
was going out, and that she must tell Godfrey Radmore how sorry he was
not to be there to welcome him.
As she remained silent, he added, rather shamefacedly:--"I'll be back in
time to have a few words with him before dinner."
Poor Janet! She still loved her husband as much as she had done in the
days when he, the absent-minded, gentle, refined scholar, made his way
into her heart. Nay, in a sense, she loved him more, for he had become
entirely dependent on her. But though she loved and admired him, she no
longer relied on him, as she had once done; he had a queer way of failing
her at the big moments of life, and now, to-day, she felt it too bad of
him to shirk the moment of Godfrey Radmore's return. His presence would
have made everything easier, for he had never admitted either to himself
or her, that Godfrey had behaved in a strange or untoward manner.
As she turned over the leaves of a nursery-man's catalogue and gazed at
the list of plants and bulbs she could not afford to buy, long-forgotten
scenes crowded on her memory.
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