“I am afraid,” he said to Anna afterwards, “that it was a mistake to order the champagne sec. I should have known at a glance if it was. I’ve got a lot of things to think about. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. Die game. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least.
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