Ellen declined to take the
slightest interest. Alfred alone ate stolidly and with every appearance
of complete satisfaction. Burton had chosen a place as near the band as
possible, with a view to rendering conversation more or less difficult.
Ellen, however, had a voice which was superior to bands. Alfred, with
his mouth continually filled with bun, appeared fascinated by the cornet
player, from whom he seldom removed his eyes.

"What I want to know, Alfred Burton, is first how long this tomfoolery
is to last, and secondly what it all means?" Ellen began, with her
elbows upon the table and a reckless disregard of neighbors. "Haven't
we lived for ten years, husband and wife, at Clematis Villa, and you as
happy and satisfied with his home as a man could be? And now, all of a
sudden, comes this piece of business. Have you gone off your head?
Here are all the neighbors just wild with curiosity, and I knowing no
more what to say to them than the man in the moon."

"Is there any necessity to say anything to them?" Burton asked, a little
vaguely.

Ellen shook in her chair. A sham tortoise-shell hairpin dropped from
her untidy hair on to the floor with a little clatter. Her veil parted
at the top from her hat. Little Alfred, terrified by an angry frown
from the cornet player, was hastily returning fragments of partially
consumed bun to his plate. The air of the place was hot and
uncomfortable. Burton for a moment half closed his eyes. His whole
being was in passionate revolt.

"Any necessity?" Ellen repeated, half hysterically. "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 i