She was leaning against the wall at the foot of his bed, and though she was not looking at him, she felt his eyes on her.
“Adelaide,” he said, “you should not have brought me that message.”
“You mean it is bad for your health to be worried, dearest?” she asked in a tone so soft that only an expert in tones could have detected something not at all soft beneath it. She glanced at her husband under her lashes. Wasn’t he any more an expert in her tones?
“I mean,” he answered, “that you should have told him to go to the devil.”
“Oh, I leave that to you, Vin.” She laughed, and added after a second’s pause, “I was only a messenger.”
“Tell him I shall be down-town next week.”
“Oh, Vin, no; not next week.”
“Tell him next week.”
“I can’t do that.”
“I thought you were only a messenger.”