“What news? There is no news.”
“Isn’t there? By Jove, this is splendid! Just come down to have breakfast with me, then! Capital. What will you have, dear?”
He rang the bell.
“Are you sorry to see me?” she asked, darting looks at the envelopes by his plate, looks that were almost sharp enough to open them.
“Sorry to see you? Don’t be absurd! Your comb’s falling into the sugar basin, and I shouldn’t think it would improve the taste of the coffee. Look out! Help! Saved! Mary dear, why don’t you do your hair?”
“I was afraid you might go out before I came down.”
“Why, I’m not going out for ages, yet.”
He gave her his letters in their envelopes, with a half-smile.
“I don’t want to see them,” she said. “Why do you pass me the letters, as though you thought I came down for that?”
Nigel pretended not to hear. He opened the newspaper.