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"I certainly think, Arthur,
that it would have been more--becoming if----"
"What do you want?" Arthur interrupted. He
was standing with his hand upon the door, glancing
furtively from one to the other like a trapped
animal. But James was too obtuse and Julia too
angry to notice the look.
Mr. Burton placed a chair for his wife and sat
down, carefully pulling up his new trousers at the
knees. "Julia and I," he began, "feel it to be our
duty to speak to you seriously about----"
"I can't listen to-night; I--I'm not well. My
head aches--you must wait."
Arthur spoke in a strange, indistinct voice, with
a confused and rambling manner. James looked
round in surprise.
"Is there anything the matter with you?" he
asked anxiously, suddenly remembering that Arthur
had come from a very hotbed of infection.
"I hope you're not sickening for anything. You
look quite feverish."
"Nonsense!" Julia interrupted sharply. "It's
only the usual theatricals, because he's ashamed to
face us.


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