He too was far from forbearing in this crisis.  In fact we were getting disillusioned with each other.

One evening I was reflecting bitterly on matters like washing-up when Henry came in.  Only a short time before we should have greeted each other cordially in a spirit of camaraderie and affection.  Now our conversation was something like this:—­

Henry (gruffly). Hullo, no signs of dinner yet!  Do you know the time?

Me (snappily). You needn’t be so impatient.  I expect you’ve gorged yourself on a good lunch in town.  Anyhow it won’t take long to get dinner, as we are having tinned soup and eggs.

Henry. Oh, damn eggs.  I’m sick of the sight of ’em.

You can see for yourself how unrestrained we were getting.  The thin veneer of civilisation (thinner than ever when Henry is hungry) was fast wearing into holes.

The subsequent meal was eaten in silence.  The hay-fever from which I am prone to suffer at all seasons of the year was particularly persistent that evening.  A rising irritability engendered by leathery eggs and fostered by Henry’s face was taking possession of me.  Quite suddenly I discovered that the way he held his knife annoyed me.  Further I was maddened by his manner of taking soup.  But I restrained myself.  I merely remarked, “You have finished your soup, I hear, love.”

Henry, though feeling the strain, had not quite lost his fortitude.  My hay-fever was obviously annoying him, but he only commented, “Don’t you think you ought to see a doctor about that distressing nasal complaint, my dear?” I knew, however, that he was longing to bark out, “Can’t you stop that everlasting sniffing?  It’s driving me mad, woman.”

How long would it be before we reached that stage of candour?  I was brooding on this when the front-door bell rang.

“You go,” I said to Henry.

“No, you go,” he replied.  “It looks bad for the man of the house to answer the door.”

I do not know why it should look bad for a man to answer his own door, unless he is a bad man.  But there are some things in our English social system which no one can understand.  I rose and went to open the front-door.  Then my heart leapt in sudden joy.  The light from the hall lamp fell on the lank form of Elizabeth.

“You’ve come back!” I exclaimed.

“I suppose you didn’t expect to see me inside of a week,” she remarked.

“I didn’t; but oh, Elizabeth, I’m so glad to see you,” I said as I drew her in.  Tears that strong men weep rose to my eyes, while Henry, at this moment emerging from the study, uttered an ejaculation of joy (it sounded like “Thank God!”) at the sight of Elizabeth.

“An’ ’ow ’ave you got on while I’ve bin away?” she inquired, eyeing us both closely.  “Did every think go orf orl right?”

I hesitated.  How was I to confess my failures and muddling in her absence and hope to have authority over her in future?  Would she not become still more difficult to manage if she knew how indispensable she was?  I continued to hesitate.  Then Henry spoke.  “We’ve managed admirably,” he said.  “Your mistress has been wonderful.  Her cooking has absolutely surprised me.”