“I wish you wouldn’t keep ’phoning,” she said shortly. “Old Harris doesn’t like it.”
Before he could say anything further, the waiter brought the oysters. When he had gone, George Muttered, “I wanted to speak to you. You said it was all right to ’phone.”
“Oh, don’t nag!” she said sharply, and forked an oyster into her mouth.
There was no doubt she was in a foul temper. Or was she nervous about something? George studied her. She did look tired and jumpy. There was also an uneasy expression in her eyes.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded, looking up and catching his eyes on her face.
“You,” George said simply. He felt an overwhelming love for her suddenly well up inside him “What’s wrong, Cora? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Wrong, what should be wrong?”
“You look nervous…”
“Do I?” she suddenly laughed. “I’m in a foul temper, that’s all.”
He could see the tremendous effort she was making to sound natural. It began to worry him There was something on her mind:something she was anxious that he should know nothing about.