“Well….” Miss Elver looked up at him, her blank bright eyes opened to their fullest extent. She paused, drew a deep breath and let it slowly out again. “It must be a nice house,” she added at last, turning away and nodding slowly at every word, “a nice house. That’s all I can say.”
“You’d like to come and stay?” asked Mr. Cardan.
“I should think I would,” Miss Elver replied decidedly, looking up at him again. Then suddenly she blushed, she put up her hands. “No, no, no,” she protested.
“Why not?” asked Mr. Cardan.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” And she began to laugh.
“Remember the bears,” said Mr. Cardan.
“Yes. But….” She left the sentence unfinished. The old woman came to the back door and rang the bell for breakfast. Ungainly as a diving-bird on land, Miss Elver scuttled into the house. Her companion followed more slowly. In the dining-room, less tomb-like in the bright morning light, breakfast was waiting. Mr. Cardan found his hostess already eating with passion, as though her life depended on it.
“I’m so hungry,” she explained with her mouth full. “Phil’s late,” she added.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Mr. Cardan, as he sat down and unfolded his napkin.
When he came down at last, it was in the guise of a cleric so obviously unfrocked, so deplorably seedy and broken-down that Mr. Cardan felt almost sorry for him.