— XXVI —THE MAN IN THE
MUSTARD-COLOURED SUIT
Mrs. Smithers sipped her chocolate. She regarded her husband, who reclined – in a state of considerable undress – on a couch in front of her. She herself was attired in a nondescript garment, which, to a masculine eye, appeared to consist principally of lace and ribbons, and which was pretending to assist in the concealment of the fact that she had just stepped out of bed.
“I should think that I must be the laziest person in the world!”
“So long as you’ve an inward persuasion that you’ve cut the record, it’s all right. This is a record-breaking age.”
“How long have we been married?”
“Do you want an answer in seconds or in years?”
“This is the third of December.”
“Since the second was yesterday, it’s within the range of possibility that y
