'If you're father come back,' exclaimed Jack indignantly, 'why do
you make mother cry?'
Rodman was still mirthful.
'I like you, Jack,' he said. 'You'll make a man some day. Do you
mind if I smoke a cigar, Clara?'
To his astonishment, he felt a weakness which had to be resisted;
tobacco suggested itself as a resource. When he had struck a light,
his wife forced back her tears and seated herself with an
unforgiving countenance.
Rodman began to chat pleasantly as he smoked.
Decidedly it was a _contretemps_. It introduced a number of
difficulties into his life. If he remained away for a night, he had
little doubt that his wife would denounce him; she knew of several
little matters which he on the whole preferred to be reticent about.
She was not a woman like Alice, to be turned round his finger. It
behoved him to be exceedingly cautious.
He had three personalities. As Mr. Willis Rodman his task was
comparatively a light one, at all events for the present. He merely
informed Alice by letter that he was kept in town by business and
would see her in the course of a week. It was very convenient that
Alice had no intercourse with her relatives. Secondly, as Mr.
Williamson his position was somewhat more difficult. Not only had he
to present himself every night at the rooms he had taken in Brixton,
but it was necessary to take precautions lest his abode should be
discovered by those who might make awkward use of the knowledge.
Pages:
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742