“The fog’s confusing. I had to take a taxi to the tube. A trunk call is an endless business.”
“Well?” said Great-aunt.
“Nothing fresh.”
“Did he answer?”
Anita nodded.
“Was he——? Is she——? Did you ask——? What did he tell you, Anita?”
Anita stabbed at her hat with her long pins. She was flushing.
“The usual details. He spares you nothing. Have you had tea, Mother?” She rang the bell.
Great-aunt beat her hand on the arm of her chair in a feeble, restless way. When I brought her tea she said to me in her confidential whisper—
“Give it to my daughter. She’s tired. She’ll tell us when she’s not so tired.”