Mavis’ little face showed pink and warm as a baby’s above the bed clothes.  And a sudden longing for caresses took possession of her husband.  To wake her, fold her in his arms, and then, pacified by the embrace, perhaps obtain a few hours’ sound sleep?  For some moments his desire was almost irresistible.  But it would be selfish thus to break her tranquil repose—­poor little tired bird.

He noiselessly slipped from the bed, huddled on some clothes, washed his face in cold water at the kitchen sink, and let himself out of the house.  The open air refreshed him almost as much as sleep could have done.  He walked nearly five miles and back on the Manninglea Road, and would not even glance at the busy sorting-room when he came in again.

Mavis accompanied him to Rodchurch Road Station, and saw him off by the nine o’clock train.  He looked very dignified in his newest bowler hat and black frock-coat, with a light overcoat on one arm and his wife’s gloved hand on the other; and as he walked up and down the platform he endeavored to ignore the fact that he was an object of universal attention.

When buying his ticket he had let fall a guarded word or two about the nature of his errand, and from the booking-office the news had flown up and down both sides of the station, round the yard, and even into the signal cabins.  “See Mr. Dale?” “Mr. Dale!” “There’s Mr. Dale, going to London for an interview with the Postmaster-General.”

Mr. Melling, the Baptist minister, took off his hat and bowed gravely; Mrs. Norton, the vicar’s wife, smilingly stopped Mavis and spoke as if she had been addressing a social equal; then they received greetings from old Mr. Bates, the corn merchant, and from young Richard Bates, his swaggering good-for-nothing son.  And then, as passengers gathered more thickly, it became quite like a public reception.  “Ma’arnin’, sir.”  “Good day, Mr. Dale.”  “I hope I see you well, sir.”

Mavis got him away from all this company just before the train came in, and made a last appeal to him.  Would he recollect what the deputy had said about eating that ugly dish which is commonly known as humble pie?

But at the mention of Mr. Ridgett’s advice Dale displayed a slight flare of irascibility.

“Let Mr. Ridgett mind his own business,” he said shortly, “and not bother himself about mine.  And look here,” he added.  “I am not trusting that gentleman any further than I see him.”

“I think you’re wrong there, Will.”

“I know human nature.”  His face had flushed, and he spoke admonitorily.  “I don’t need to tell you to be circumspect during my absence—­but you may have a little trouble in keeping Mr. R. in his proper place.  You’ll be quick to twig if he supposes the chance has come to pester you.  These London customers—­whatever their age—­think when they get along with a pretty woman—­”

“Oh, Will, don’t be absurd;” and she looked at him wistfully, and spoke sadly.  “I’m not so attractive as you think me.  I may be the same to your eyes—­but not to others.  It’s very doubtful if anybody would want me now—­except those who knew me when I was young.”