easantest. He saw the light go up in his wife's bed room, unscreened
for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha! If I did my duty as a special, I
should "strafe" her for that.' She came to the window, her figure
lighted, hands up to the back of her head, so that her bare arms gleamed.
Mr. Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he could not be seen. 'Lucky
chap!' he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went her arm, down came the
blind the house was dark again. He drew a long breath. 'Another ten
minutes,' he thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up. By Jove! The limes
are beginning to smell already!' And, the better to take in that acme of
his well-being, he tilted the swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and
swung himself toward the scented blossoms. He wanted to whelm his senses
in their perfume, and closed his eyes. But instead of the domestic
vision he expected, the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed,
shadowy, pinched and dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing
vividness that he opened his eyes again at once. Curse! The fellow
almost haunted one! Where would he be now poor little devil!--lying in
his cell, thinking--thinking of his wife! Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr.
Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!--all his well-being
and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him! 'A d---d world!' he
thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I have to sit in judgment on
that poor beggar, and condemn him?' He moved up on to the terrace and
walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance before going in.
'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the rest of those
fellows--they see nothing!' And, abruptly turning up the three stone
steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed into the billiard
room, and drank his barley water. One of the pictures was hanging
crooked; he went up to put it straight. Still life. Grapes and apples,
and--lobsters! They struck him as odd for the first time. Why lobsters?
The whole picture seemed dead and oily. He turned off the light, and
went upstairs, passed his wife's door, into his own room, and undressed.
Clothed in his pyjamas he opened the door between the rooms. By the
light coming from his own he could see her dark head on the pillow. Was
she asleep? No--not asleep, certainly. The moment of fruition had come;
the crowning of his pride and pleasure in his home. But he continued to
stand there. He had suddenly no pride, no pleasure,