The Two Mrs. Abbotts Read Free Page B

splendidly.
    Arthur was quite glad to sit back in his chair while his wife and her friend chatted to each other about old times and mutual friends. Their voices had a soothing effect upon him, and he needed soothing for he had had a troublesome sort of day. Publishing was never a plain sailing sort of business but in war-time the waters were rougher than usual. He thought about a book his firm had just published— Her Loving Heart by Janetta Walters—and wished that the firm of Abbott and Spicer was rich enough, and haughty enough, to refuse that sort of book, though as a matter of fact there were precious few publishing firms who would refuse a book by that well-known lady. Her books sold in scores of thousands, her admirers were legion. “High-powered tushery,” murmured Arthur Abbott to himself and all at once he chuckled because he had found such an apt description of her work.
    â€œWhat are you laughing at?” asked Barbara with interest.
    â€œAt the idea of a book we have published.”
    â€œI like funny books,” said Sarah, pricking up her ears.
    â€œBut this is not a funny book in that sense,” said Arthur quickly. “In fact it isn’t a funny book in any sense. It is—er—sentimental and romantic. I was merely—er—smiling to myself because I had found the right words to describe it.”
    â€œFor the blurb,” said Sarah complacently. She was rather pleased with herself for having remembered the right word.
    â€œEr—no,” replied Arthur, smiling broadly. “Just for my own satisfaction. This particular author writes her own advertisements—or at least her sister writes them. Her sister manages all her business affairs.”
    â€œI wish there were more funny books,” said Sarah, looking at her hostess as she spoke, for the two funniest books Sarah had ever read had been written by Barbara Buncle.
    â€œNo,” said Barbara firmly. “I’m too busy, now. I mean my mind is too busy, isn’t it, Arthur? There are the children, you see, and the housekeeping—and of course the war.”
    Arthur smiled at his wife. “But afterwards, when the war is over and the children have gone to school, Barbara will write another book, better and funnier and more successful than the other two put together.”
    Barbara blushed and said, “Oh, Arthur!” in a voice that showed how truly delighted she was.

Chapter Three
Letters from Egypt
    The following morning at approximately ten o’clock Sarah was sitting in Arthur Abbott’s study reading the paper and enjoying herself immensely; not that there was anything very enjoyable in the paper, of course, for the news was indifferent to say the least of it, but because it was such a treat to sit down like this at ten o’clock in the morning instead of having to wash up the dishes and dust the rooms and rack one’s brains over housekeeping. It was not that Sarah disliked housekeeping, she was interested in it and did it well, but it is pleasant to have a holiday even from something one likes—so Sarah discovered—it was even pleasant to have a holiday from John.
    Sarah was quite horrified at this discovery, for she adored John…she was trying to persuade herself that she missed John dreadfully and was longing to return to him when she heard steps in the hall and a girl suddenly appeared in the doorway. The girl looked about twenty-eight (Sarah thought); she was small and slight and was clad in riding breeches and a dark green pullover. She had no hat, and her thick, silky brown hair was blown about by the wind. Her eyes were gray and unusually wide apart and her fair skin was powdered with golden freckles. Sarah liked the look of the girl—or rather the young woman—so she smiled at her.
    â€œHallo!” exclaimed the young woman in surprise.
    â€œI’m Sarah Walker,” said Sarah Walker. “ An old friend of