I cannot have my wife distressed or worried. A creeping numbness invaded her. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. Sorry I’m a bit late the first evening. He seemed to have expected them. Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. From the first I could see that neither believed my story.
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