something. That evening, after a bleak supper at a marble-topped
restaurant table, he tried to divert himself by going to see a play;
he saw so many other things that he came out in the middle of it. "I
guess I can get all the anatomy I want in my trade," he told himself;
and sat down in the station to await the midnight train.

It was not until the next afternoon, when he climbed into the stage at
Mercer and piled his own and Martha's bundles on the rack above him,
that he really settled down to think the thing over.... What did it
mean? The man had been willing to eat his bread; he had shown no
offence at anything; what the deuce--! He pondered over it, all the
way to Old Chester. When Martha, according to the custom of wives,
inquired categorically concerning his day in Philadelphia, he dragged
out most irritatingly vague answers. As she did not chance to ask,
"Did you hunt up Mr. Lloyd Pryor? Did you go to his house? Did you
expect an invitation and not receive it?" she was not informed on
these topics. But when at last she did say, "And my sachet-powder?" he
was compelled to admit that he had forgotten it.

Martha's lip tightened.

"I got the lye and stuff," her husband defended himself. "And what did
you want sachet-powder for, anyway?"

But Martha was silent.

After supper William strolled over to Dr. Lavendar's, and sat smoking
stolidly for an hour before he unbosomed himself. Dr. Lavendar did not
notice his uncommunicativeness; he had his own preoccupations.