Only the vicar knew where the money
for the parish came from, and he regarded it, he told Mrs. Arbuthnot,
as a matter of honour not to mention it.
And at least her little house was not haunted by the loose lived
ladies, for Frederick did his work away from home. He had two rooms
near the British Museum, which was the scene of his exhumations, and
there he went every morning, and he came back long after his wife was
asleep. Sometimes he did not come back at all. Sometimes she did not
see him for several days together. Then he would suddenly appear at
breakfast, having let himself in with his latchkey the night before,
very jovial and good-natured and free-handed and glad if she would
allow him to give her something--a well-fed man, contented with the
world; a jolly, full-blooded, satisfied man. And she was always
gentle, and anxious that his coffee should be as he liked it.
He seemed very happy. Life, she often thought, however much one
tabulated was yet a mystery. There were always some people it was
impossible to place. Frederick was one of them. He didn't seem to
bear the remotest resemblance to the original Frederick. He didn't
seem to have the least need of any of the things he used to say were so
important and beautiful--love, home, complete communion of thoughts,
complete immersion in each other's interests.
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