A Bride From the Bush by E.W. Hornung

Alfred did not become unconscious, nor even feel faint: he was a man. But he did feel profoundly wretched. He tried to shake off this feeling, but failed. Later, on his way back through the City, he stopped somewhere to try and lunch it off, and with rather better success. He was a man: he proceeded to throw the blame upon the woman. It was Gladys who had supplied all the sentiment (and there had been an absurd amount of it) at their parting; it was the woman who had exaggerated this paltry week's separation, until it had assumed, perhaps for them both -- at the moment -- abnormal dimensions; he, the man, was blameless. If _his_ way had obtained, she should have gone away in highest spirits, instead of in tears -- and all for one insignificant week! He should write her a serious, if not a severe, letter on the subject.

So Alfred went down to Twickenham in quite a valiant mood to face his week of single-blessedness, and to affect a droll appreciation of it in the popular, sprightly manner of the long-married man.