"Whom are you speaking of?" I asked, coldly, and immediately retired to
the billiard-room, where I played a capital game. The coffee was much
better there than in the dining-room.

Several days passed, and I took care to show William that I had
forgotten his maunderings. I chanced to see the little girl (though I
never looked for her) every evening, and she always nodded three times,
save once, when she shook her head, and then William's face grew white
as a napkin. I remember this incident because that night I could not get
into a pocket. So badly did I play that the thought of it kept me awake
in bed, and that, again, made me wonder how William's wife was. Next day
I went to the club early (which was not my custom) to see the new books.
Being in the club at any rate, I looked into the dining-room to ask
William if I had left my gloves there, and the sight of him reminded
me of his wife; so I asked for her. He shook his head mournfully, and I
went off in a rage.

So accustomed am I to the club that when I dine elsewhere I feel
uncomfortable next morning, as if I had missed a dinner. William knew
this; yet here he was, hounding me out of the club! That evening I dined
(as the saying is) at a restaurant, where no sauce was served with the
asparagus. Furthermore, as if that were not triumph enough for William,
his doleful face came between me and every dish, and I seemed to see his
wife dying to annoy me.

I dined next day at the club for self-preservation, taking, however,
a table in the middle of the room, and engaging a waiter who had once
nearly poisoned me by not interfering when I put two lumps of sugar into
my coffee instead of one, which is my allowance. But no William came to
me to acknowledge his humiliation, and by-and-by I became aware that he