There are some women who wish their husbands never would come home. But I'm not that sort. When James has been away, how I've waited and watched for him no one knows, or ever will. And prayed too. And I've taught the children to pray for Daddy to come home. We've all three knelt down together, though they can hardly speak. And when Jimmy says 'Please, God, send Daddy soon,' it goes right through me. I wish He would--to stop. Every footfall I've hoped was his, and at a rap at the door my heart stopped beating. And then when he did come, he'd be as cool and as calm as if he'd never been away. If you ran to him, and made a fuss, he'd say something that would cut you like a knife. But if you kept yourself in as tight as you could, and waited for him to start the fussing, sometimes he'd be that nice that I'd forget all my heavy heart and weary watching, and be as happy as the day was long. Mr. FitzHoward hadn't got used to him like I had. He hadn't been his 'business manager' for long--though what business James had that he was manager of was beyond me altogether--and the way in which James had taken himself away again seemed to worry him even more than it did me. So far as I could make out, James had bound himself to go to certain towns on certain dates; and if he didn't go Mr. FitzHoward would have to pay. He didn't like the idea of that at all. And I can't say that I blame him. He was in and out sometimes two or three times a day to know if there was news of him. What with his constant worrying, and James keeping away, it was almost more than I could stand. It was only the children kept me up. If I hadn't loved my husband it wouldn't have mattered; but I did. And though I let no one guess it, least of all Mr. FitzHoward, my heart kept crying out for him as if it would break. One morning, two days after he'd been telling me about that mysterious Mr. Smith, he came rushing into the house without even so much as knocking. He was so excited that he made me excited too. I went up to him with my hands clenched at my sides, feeling all of a tremble. 'Well, where is he?' His answer made me go as cold as I'd gone hot. 'I'd give a five-pound note to know; the one presented me by Mr. Smith, with another one on top of it.' 'What's the matter with you then, if you don't know?' He seemed to think that there was something singular in my appearance. 'I say--Mrs. Merrett--don't hit me!' As if I was going to hit him. Though he deserved shaking for making me think such things. I went back to the roly-poly pudding I was making for the children's dinner. 'I tell you what it is, Mrs. Merrett; I'm beginning to feel uneasy.' 'Who cares what you feel?' Disappointment had made me angry.