Bruce was always depressed now, and if he felt a little more cheerful
for a moment he seemed to try and conceal it. No doubt his melancholy
was real enough, but it was also partly a pose and a profession. Having
undertaken to be depressed, he seemed to think it wrong to show a gleam
of brightness. Besides, on Sundays Madame Frabelle usually listened to
him; and this afternoon she had gone, unaccompanied, to hear the Rev.
Byrne Fraser preach. Bruce felt injured.
He had grown to feel quite lost without her.
'He's very dull there,' said Edith.
'I dare say he is,' he answered. 'I'm sure _I_ should feel half inclined
to cut my throat if I were alone, with a game leg, at a place like that.
Besides, they've had the Zepps there already once. Just the place for
them to come again.'
'He's very bored. But he's much better, and he's going back to the front
in a fortnight.'
'In a fortnight! Good heavens! Pretty sharp work.'
'It is, indeed. He's counting the hours till he can get off.'
Bruce, sighing, lighted his cigarette.
'I wondered if you'd mind, Bruce, if I went down for the day to see
him?'
'Mind! Oh _dear_, no! Of course, go.
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