Mr. Wagstaff had put some surprising sort of spoke in the
company's wheel. They had that from their husbands who trafficked on
Broad Street. By what power he had accomplished this remained a
mystery to the ladies. Singly and collectively they drove Hazel to the
verge of distraction. When the house was at last clear of them she
could have wept. Through no fault of her own she had given Granville
another choice morsel to roll under its gossipy tongue.
So that when six o'clock brought Bill home, she was coldly disapproving
of him and his affairs in their entirety, and at no pains to hide her
feelings. He followed her into the living-room when the uncomfortable
meal--uncomfortable by reason of the surcharged atmosphere--was at an
end.
"Let's get down to bed rock, Hazel," he said gently. "Doesn't it seem
rather foolish to let a bundle of outside troubles set up so much
friction between us two? I don't want to stir anything up; I don't
want to quarrel. But I can't stand this coldness and reproach from
you. It's unjust, for one thing. And it's so unwise--if we value our
happiness as a thing worth making some effort to save."
"I don't care to discuss it at all," she flared up.
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