He read the words through twice with a vague sense of discomfort.
Had Marie underlined them--and if so, why? They did not convey atremendous deal to Chris, though he had a faintly uncomfortablefeeling that they might to a woman.
Marie was not twenty-five either, she was only nineteen! And anywayit was absurd to imagine that she was finding the world bitter whenshe had just written home to Aunt Madge that she was quite happy.
He had still got the book in his hand when the door opened andMarie came in. She caught her breath when she saw her husband.
"You, Chris!"
"Yes, I thought you were in." He turned round, holding out thebook. "Are you reading this?"
"Yes." She tried to take it from him, but he avoided her. "Did youunderline that verse?"
He saw the color flicker into her face, but she laughed as she bentover the book and read the words he indicated.
"Did I? Of course not. It's a pretty poem. It's Tennyson's 'Maud,'you know." Chris knew nothing about Tennyson's "Maud," but he wasrelieved to hear the natural way in which his wife spoke. He shutthe book and threw it down carelessly.
"I came to say that I'm sorry about last night--about forgettingto take you out, I mean. I clean forgot all about it. We'll goto-night, shall we?" There was the smallest hesitation before sheanswered. She was taking off her hat at the wardrobe so he couldnot see her face.
"Mr. Dakers has two tickets for a concert," she said at last, "Ialmost promised him I would go." She waited. "If you don't mind,"she added.
"Of course, I don't mind. Go by all means. I dare say you'll enjoyit. I shall be all right--I can have a game at billiards withsomeone. I suppose it's time to dress?"
"Yes, I think so."
"See you downstairs, then?"
"Yes."
Chris went off whistling. He was quite happy again. Somebody elsehad marked that verse. He ought to have known Marie Celeste wouldnot be so foolish--and they were stupid lines anyway. He could notimagine why anybody ever wanted to read poetry.
CHAPTER VII
"When the links of love are parted, Strength is gone . . ."