He tore up the sheet and searched for plain paper.
Now on the desk there was the ordinary hotel stationery, mourning
stationery, cards, letter-cards and envelopes for every mood; but not
a piece that was not embossed with the historic name in royal blue.
The which appeared to Edward Henry to point to a defect of foresight
on the part of Wilkins's. At the gigantic political club to which
he belonged, and which he had occasionally visited in order to
demonstrate to himself and others that he was a clubman, plain
stationery was everywhere provided for the use of husbands with a
taste for reticence. Why not at Wilkins's also?
On the other hand, why should he _not_ write to his wife on Wilkins's
paper? Was he afraid of his wife? He was not. Would not the news
ultimately reach Bursley that he had stayed at Wilkins's? It would.
Nevertheless, he could not find the courage to write to Nellie on
Wilkins's paper.
He looked around. He was fearfully alone. He wanted the companionship,
were it only momentary, of something human. He decided to have a look
at the flunkey, and he rang a bell.
Immediately, just as though wafted thither on a magic carpet from the
Court of Austria, a gentleman-in-waiting arrived in the doorway of the
drawing-room, planted himself gracefully on his black silk calves, and
bowed.
"I want some plain note-paper, please.
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