He was half-an-hour
late for lunch. Luncheon, in fact, must be over. And indeed, as he
passed along the library windows, he saw Elizabeth's figure at her
desk. It annoyed him that she should have gone back to work so soon
after her meal. He had constantly made it plain to her that she was
not expected to begin work of an afternoon till four o'clock. She
would overdo it: and then she would break down again as she had done
before. In his selfishness, his growing dependence on her
companionship and her help, he began to dread the mere chance.
How agreeable, and how fruitful, their days of work had been lately!
He had been, of course, annoyed sometimes by her preoccupation with
the war news of the morning. Actually, this Caporetto business, the
Italian disaster, had played the mischief with her for a day or
two--and the news from Russia. Any bad news, indeed, seemed to haunt
her; her colour faded away; and if he dictated notes to her, they
would be occasionally inaccurate. But that was seldom. In general,
he felt that he had made great strides during the preceding weeks;
that, thanks to her, the book he was attempting was actually coming
into shape.
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