While the parlour-maid presented potatoes Concepcion deliberately ignored her and said dryly to G.J.:
"I can't eat any more. I think I ought to run along to Debenham and Freebody's at once. You might come too, and be sure to bring your good taste with you."
He was alarmed by her tone.
"Debenham and Freebody's! What for?"
"To order mourning, of course. To have it ready, you know. A precaution, you know." She laughed.
He saw that she was becoming hysterical: the special liability of the war-bride for whom the curtain has been lifted and falls exasperatingly, enragingly, too soon.
"You think I'm a bit hysterical?" she questioned, half menacingly, and stood up.
"I think you'd better sit down, to begin with," he said firmly.
The parlour-maid, blushing slightly, left the room.
"Oh, all right!" Concepcion agreed carelessly, and sat down. "But you may as well read that."