"Yes, I've had my tea, thank you. And you?"
"No, thank you. I—in fact I've had a whisky and soda."
The indulgence was unusual. It confirmed Mrs. Lenoir's instinct.
"Where's Bertie?"
"He's gone for a walk to Camara de Lobos."
The instinct was proved infallibly correct. A stride along the one level road—clearly a case of mental disturbance needing physical treatment!
The General sat down. He was not even smoking; he rested the big silver knob of his stick against his lips. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. Oh yes, certainly yes!
When he spoke, it was abruptly. "I don't know exactly how long you mean to stay here, Clara, but I'm afraid Bertie and I must take the next boat home. We must get back to London."
"Who's inconsolable in London?"
"I've had a letter which makes it advisable——"