"Well?" said Theodosia tartly.
She was a pretty woman still, though over thirty-five in age, tall and fair—but the fine eyes which carefully avoided meeting those of her husband were not happy, and her whole air expressed intense ennui.
Certainly, the outside world looked cheerless. Snow had fallen heavily throughout the preceding day, and threatening clouds hovered still over a white landscape. Theodosia Bryant hated country at the best of times, and country lanes, immediately after a snowfall, are scarcely at their best.
"The post has come in."
"The post! And to think of the beloved rat-tat of the London postman, ten times a day!" sighed Theodosia. "However, one may be thankful to be not utterly cut off from the rest of the world, I suppose. I wasn't sure whether we might not have come to that. Anything for me?" She shot an uneasy side-glance at Dr. Bryant. He had a handsome face, calm and firm, framed in abundant grey hair.
"Two for you. None from Brighton for me."
"Did you expect to hear? I didn't," said Theodosia, reddening slightly.
"My dear, what can you know of people whom you have never seen?"
"They seem to have put you to trouble without much compunction."
"Some mistake, probably. But I shall write at once to Felix."