Chapter Thirty


"The whole trouble is that Bert loves neither the children nor
myself any more!" she decided bitterly, on a certain August
afternoon, when, with three other young wives and mothers, she was
playing bridge at the club. It was a Saturday, and Bert was on the
tennis courts, where the semi-finals in the tournament were being
played. Nancy had watched all morning, and had lunched with the
other women; the men merely snatched lunch, still talking of the
play. Nancy had noticed disapprovingly that Bert was flushed and
excited, her asides to him seemed to fall upon unhearing ears. He
seemed entirely absorbed in what Oliver Rose and Joe Underhill
were saying; he had lost his own chance for the cup, but was in
high spirits, and was to umpire the afternoon games.

After luncheon Nancy rather discontentedly settled down to bridge,
with Elsie Fielding, Ruth Biggerstaff and a young Mrs. Billings
who had only recently come back to her home in the Gardens, after
some years of travel. They were all pretty and gracious women, and
just such a group as the Nancy of a few years ago would have
envied heartily.

But to-day she felt deeply depressed, she knew not why. Perhaps
watching the tennis had given her a slight headache; perhaps
Bert's cavalier treatment of her latest idea of economizing,
submitted to him only a few hours ago, still rankled in her
breast.

"Bert," she had said to him suddenly, during a breakfast-table