"Alfred Burton,
let's have done with this shilly-shallying! After coming home regularly
to your meals for six years, do you suppose you can disappear and not
have people curious? Do you suppose you can leave your wife and son and
not a word said or a question asked? What I want to know is this--are
you coming home to Clematis Villa or are you not?"
"At present I am not," Burton declared, gently but very firmly indeed.
"Is it true that you've got the sack from Mr. Waddington?"
"Perfectly," he admitted. "I have found some other work, though."
She leaned forward so that one of those dyed feathers to which he
objected so strongly brushed his cheek.
"Have you touched the money in the Savings Bank?" she demanded.
"I have drawn out every penny of it to send you week by week," he
replied, "but I am in a position now to replace it. You can do it
yourself, in your own name, if you like. Here it is."
He produced a little roll of notes and handed them to her. She took
them with shaking fingers. She was beginning to lose some of her
courage. The sight of the money impressed her.
"Alfred Burton," she said, "why don't you drop all this foolishness?
Come home with us this afternoon."
She leaned across the table, on which she had once more plumped her
elbows.
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