'Well, I'm dashed,' said Ross, and took that also.
'Oh, do let me finish my letter to Michael, Ross. The Titmouse posts it
in the morning. I only want to write just one more thing.'
'You may say,' said Ross, handing it back, '"I am a very disobedient
wife, Michael."'
So I said, "I am a very disobedient wife, Michael, but I love you" (oh,
he's coming for the pencil), "love you--lo----"'
But, of course, I've got another pencil, one must be prepared for such
emergencies, but the thing that really rankles is, if he 'lets me'--in
_my_ house!
In the silent watches of the night I have decided that if Sam does
produce any improvement in the housekeeping I am going to find out how;
surely my brain is as good as a man's any day of the week.
*CHAPTER XXI*
I feel anxious about Monica. She hasn't heard from Charlie. I saw her
yesterday. She looked very tired, but wouldn't say much--only, 'there's
hardly been time yet,' which she knows as well as I do isn't true. So I
suppose something has gone wrong there. God doesn't seem to like people
to be happy lately. I haven't heard from Michael either the last two
days, but I try not to worry. Probably the posts are just hung up again.
Mrs Williams is better, much less pain, and a little fatter, or perhaps
it would be more correct to say, rather less thin. The nurse thinks she
will be able to get up for a while to-morrow, and that she should go
away for a change before her operation.