The sun was gilding Goldenville in its morning glory when Bradbury made up his mind. He would play with her no more. To do so would be fair neither to himself nor to her. At any moment, he felt, she might come out on the links in high heels or stop to powder her nose on the green while frenzied foursomes waited to play their approach-shots. And then love would turn to hate, and he and she would go through life estranged. Better to end it now, while he still retained some broken remains of the old esteem. He had got everything neatly arranged. He would plead business in the City and sneak off each day to play on another course five miles away. “Darling,” he said at breakfast, “I’m afraid we shan’t be able to have our game for a week or so. I shall have to be at the office early and late.” “Oh, what a shame!” said Mrs. Fisher. “You will, no doubt, be able to get a game with the pro or somebody. You know how bitterly this disappoints me. I had come to look on our daily round as the bright spot of the day. But business is business.” “I thought you had retired from business,” said Mrs. Lora Smith Maplebury, with a sniff that cracked a coffee-cup. Bradbury Fisher looked at her coldly. She was a lean, pale-eyed woman with high cheek-bones, and for the hundredth time since she had come into his life he felt how intensely she needed a punch on the nose. “Not altogether,” he said. “I still retain large interests in this and that, and I am at the moment occupied with affairs which I cannot mention without revealing secrets which might--which would--which are--Well, anyway, I’ve got to go to the office.” “Oh, quite,” said Mrs. Maplebury. “What do you mean, quite?” demanded Bradbury. “I mean just what I say. Quite!” “Why quite?” “Why not quite? I suppose I can say ‘Quite!’ can’t I?” “Oh, quite,” said Bradbury. He kissed his wife and left the room. He felt a little uneasy. There had been something in the woman’s manner which had caused him a vague foreboding. Had he been able to hear the conversation that followed his departure, he would have been still more uneasy. “Suspicious!” said Mrs. Maplebury. “What is?” asked Mrs. Fisher. “That man’s behaviour.” “What do you mean?” “Did you observe him closely while he was speaking?” “No.” “The tip of his nose wiggled. Always distrust a man who wiggles the tip of his nose.” “I am sure Bradbury would not deceive you.” “So am I. But he might try to.” “I don’t understand, mother. Do you mean you think Bradbury is not going to the office?” “I am sure he is not.” “You think--?” “I do.” “You are suggesting--?” “I am.” “You would imply--?” “I would.” A moan escaped Mrs. Fisher. “Oh, mother, mother!” she cried. “If I thought Bradbury was untrue to me, what I wouldn’t do to that poor clam!” “I certainly think that the least you can do, as a good womanly woman, is to have a capable lawyer watching your interests.”