When he entered he found the other man waiting, standing near the
stove, a certain stiff awkwardness and indecision in his manner.
Messner set down his water-pails.

"Glad to meet you, Graham Womble," he said in conventional tones,
as though acknowledging an introduction.

Messner did not offer his hand. Womble stirred uneasily, feeling
for the other the hatred one is prone to feel for one he has
wronged.

"And so you're the chap," Messner said in marvelling accents.
"Well, well. You see, I really am glad to meet you. I have been -
er - curious to know what Theresa found in you - where, I may say,
the attraction lay. Well, well."

And he looked the other up and down as a man would look a horse up
and down.

"I know how you must feel about me," Womble began.

"Don't mention it," Messner broke in with exaggerated cordiality of
voice and manner. "Never mind that. What I want to know is how do
you find her? Up to expectations? Has she worn well? Life been
all a happy dream ever since?"

"Don't be silly," Theresa interjected.

"I can't help being natural," Messner complained.