After a while—in half an hour, perhaps—the door opened and Catherine herself came in with a tray.
He smiled faintly at this. “You will have your way, won’t you?” he remarked; but he ate a little while she sat watching him.
“Stacey,” she asked diffidently, when he had finished, “should you like me to go with you?”
“To Mrs. Latimer’s?” he exclaimed. “Oh, would you? But no,” he added impatiently, “why should I lay things on you?”
“You won’t be doing that. If I could, perhaps, share a little, I should be glad. You’ve had—nearly enough, I think.”
“You’re kind,” he said gruffly. “All right. Come.”
“Now?”
He nodded.
“Then I’ll go for a wrap and come back at once.”
“Oh!” he said, with a start, when she returned, “I must order the car brought around.” And he reached for the telephone.