At breakfast on the following morning he had a headache, and she fidgeted.
“What horrible coffee,” he said, with a grimace.
“Brazilian,” she said, shortly.
“What shall we do to-day?” he asked, looking at his watch.
“Hadn’t you better eat some bread and butter, instead of grumbling at the coffee?” she said.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he answered, “and I’ll have a liqueur at the same time. That champagne last night, ugh!”
He asked for bread and butter and a liqueur and his temper improved.
“Let’s go to the Pilot’s Hill and look at the view.”
They rose from the breakfast table and went out.