"Good lord, and we haven't had supper yet."
"Are we going to wait for Irene?" he inquired.
"Not for supper. She is late. I won't half tell her off."
Danby had risen from the hearth-rug and turned on the light. Jenny was poking the fire vigorously.
"I've got pâté de foie gras" he informed her.
"Ugh, what horrible-looking stuff," she said.
"Don't you like it?"
"I never tried it."
"Try now," Danby urged.
"No, thanks, it looks like bad butter."