Produced by David Widger
By W. W. Jacobs
Table of Contents
List of Illustrations
Mrs. Chalk watched the schooner until it was a mere white speck on the horizon, a faint idea that it might yet see the error of its ways and return for her chaining her to the spot. Compelled at last to recognise the inevitable, she rose from the turf on which she had been sitting and, her face crimson with wrath, denounced husbands in general and her own in particular.
“It’s my husband’s doing, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Stobell, with a side glance at her friend’s attire, not entirely devoid of self- congratulation. “That’s why he wouldn’t let me have a yachting costume. I can see it now.”
Mrs. Chalk turned and eyed her with angry disdain.
“And that’s why he wouldn’t let me bring more than one box,” continued Mrs. Stobell, with the air of one to whom all things had been suddenly revealed; “and why he wouldn’t shut the house up. Oh, just fancy what a pickle I should have been in if I had! I must say it was thoughtful of him.”
“Thoughtful!” exclaimed Mrs. Chalk, in a choking voice.
“And I ought to have suspected something,” continued Mrs. Stobell, “because he kissed me this morning. I can see now that he meant it for goodbye! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. Robert always does get his own way.”
“If you hadn’t persuaded me to come ashore for that wretched luncheon,” said Mrs. Chalk, in a deep voice, “we should have been all right.”
“I’m sure I wasn’t to know,” said her friend, “although I certainly thought it odd when Robert said that he had got it principally for you. I could see you were a little bit flattered.”
Mrs. Chalk, trembling with anger, sought in vain for a retort.
“Well, it’s no good staying here,” said Mrs. Stobell, philosophically. “We had better get home.”