" She smiled again. "There's a confession of a conjugal
quarrel for you, Mr. Foster. Don't talk about it, or Mr. Smiley will
have a caricature of us throwing the furniture at one another. I've been
very humble ever since, I assure you."
Mr. Foster chuckled. May imagined that his fancy was touched by her
suggestion of the caricature; in fact he was picturing Alexander
Quisante's indignant disclaimer.
"Don't tell him I said anything to you about it," she added.
"You may be sure I won't," he promised.
It would not have been out of harmony with Mr. Foster's general
theological position to consider the sudden and serious development of
his gout as a direct judgment on him for a diplomacy that perhaps
overstepped legitimate limits, and in another man's case he might have
adopted such a view with considerable complacency. When, however, he was
laid up and placed _hors du combat_ in the last three critical days, he
needed all his faith to reconcile him to one of the most unfathomable
instances of the workings of Providence. His grumbles were loud and long,
and the directions which he sent from his sick bed were tinged with
irritability.
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