recollected all his past grievances, real and imaginary, and recounted
them, and also speculated about those that were to come, and mentioned the
number of things he was always doing for everybody, the position he had to
keep up and consider for the sake of his family, the scandal there would
be if this story got about; and described in one breath both his
determination to hush it up, and his conviction that it would be utterly
impossible to do so. Whenever the postman knocked he went to the door to
look for a letter, and coming back empty-handed each time, he invariably
remarked that it was disgraceful, simply disgraceful, and he had never
heard of such a thing in all his life. There was blame and severity in his
attitude toward poor Mrs. Frayling; he seemed to insinuate that she might
and should have done something to prevent all this; while there was a
mixture of sympathy, deprecation, and apology in his manner to his
son-in-law, combined with a certain air of absolving himself from all
responsibility in the matter.

Major Colquhoun's own attitude was wholly enigmatical. He smoked cigars,
read novels, and said nothing except in answer to such remarks as were
specially addressed to him, and then he confined himself to the shortest
and simplest form of rejoinder possible.

"The dear fellow's patience is exemplary," Mrs. Frayling remarked to her
husband as they went to bed one night. "He conceals his own feelings
_quite_, and never utters a complaint."

"Humph!" grunted Mr. Frayling, who scented some reproach in this remark;
"if the dear fellow does not suffer from impatience, and has no feelings
to conceal, it is not much marvel if he utters no complaint. I believe he
doesn't care a rap, and is only thinking of how to get out of the whole
business."