He glanced at it, regarded it for slightly longer than a glance, and with a little pucker of brows and lips, then made the action of putting it, unopened, in his pocket. Then he rested the bicycle against his hip and opened her letter.
"Northrepps. Tuesday." She never dated her letters. He used to be always telling her about that. Tuesday was yesterday.
Dear Marko—We're back. We've been from China to Peru—almost. Come up one day and be bored about it. How are you?
Nona.
He thought: "Funny she didn't mention she'd written just now. Perhaps she thought it was funny I didn't say I'd had it. I must tell her."
He returned her letter to its envelope and put the envelope in his pocket. Then wheeled his bicycle into his gate. He smiled. "Mabel will be surprised at me back like this."
Mabel was descending the stairs as he entered the hall. In the white dress she wore she made a pleasant picture against the broad, shallow stairway and the dark panelling. But she did not appear particularly pleased to see him. But he thought, "Why should she be? That's just it. That's why I've come back."
"Hullo?" she greeted him. "Have you forgotten something?"
He smiled invitingly. "No, I've just come back. I suddenly thought we'd have a holiday."
She showed puzzlement. "A holiday? What, the office? All of you?"