The Romantic Adventures of Mr. Darby and of Sarah His Wife by Martin Armstrong Page A

business that stands still,” he said, “goes back.” He hadn’t an idea, you know, that he was talking nonsense.’
    Sarah finished her sherry. ‘Well, I’m very much obliged to you,’ she said. ‘Now I shall know what to do. He’ll have to have a hot supper when he doesn’t come home to dinner, that’s all.’ She held out her hand to Miss Sunningdale and they smiled at one another.
    â€˜Good afternoon,’ said Sarah.
    â€˜Good afternoon, madam,’ said Miss Sunningdale, and she watched the large, stately figure till the door swung-to behind it.
    â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â Â â€¢
    Meanwhile Mr. Darby, bland, important, and sublimely unconscious that his existence was being ordered by anyone but Providence and himself, had made his customary inspection of the shipping, given a few passing thoughts to Vesuvius, the Equator, and the Jungle, and pursued his way up Cliff Street towards the office. He was contented and happy, but, even while enjoying this state, he knew that it was merely a temporary condition due to his visit to The Schooner and that his new disillusionment was lurking in the background, waiting a convenient moment to lay hold of him again. That was not a pleasant thought, but neither was it an unbearable thought, for he was no longer without hope, not the old baseless hope in which he had formerly reposed so blindly, but a practical and reasonable hope based on a B Account which, if luck favoured him at Christmastime, would soon be a tangible reality. With this in mind and with his Friday contentment upon him, Mr. Darby passed the Cathedral with all his old portly alertness, pausing before the window of Brown & Philipson to consider a display of electric light fittings, and, further down the street, before that of Harrington & Co., to inspect, and then in imagination to order, a cedar-wood cigar cabinet filled with an attractive selection of cigars. ‘Enter it to my account, please,’ he said as he turned along the railings of St. John’s Churchyard. A minute later the third step of Number Thirty Seven Ranger Street registered his return to the office.

Chapter V

The Darkest Hour
    The days crept on towards Christmas and Sarah noticed something of an improvement in Mr. Darby’s condition. The reason was, of course, that he was no longer being starved, for every Friday evening he returned home to find an ample hot supper awaiting him. And it was obvious that he needed it, for he partook of it very heartily. On the first occasion he did not remark upon it, though she noticed that his spectacles shone with pleasure, but when a hot supper greeted him again on the following Friday, he rubbed his hands together and remarked: ‘What, a hot supper again? Well, I must say, Sarah, this is a treat.’ They both ate with relish (for Sarah too lunched lightly at midday on Fridays: there was no good making a hot dinner for herself alone) and in the state of well-being that the satisfying of a good appetite produces they chatted with great good humour. Sarah’s face had emerged from its habitual sternness and from time to time it broke into that grim, yet indulgent smile of hers that was so irresistibly attractive. Mr. Darby, charmed by it as always, reproached himself for his bitter thoughts of her, and for his machinations in the matter of the B Account (Adventure Fund). But no sooner had he done so than an unfortunate incident occurred. They had finished supper and he rose from his chair.
    â€˜Well, I must say, Sarah,’ he remarked, ‘that was a treat.’
    Sarah looked at him with a smile, and then a spirit of roguishness stirred the corners of her mouth. ‘Well, Jim,’ she replied, ‘what I say
is
that three sandwiches and a couple of Basses is no dinner for a man.’
    She had