"I wish you could have managed to help me with some of these things," he was muttering reproachfully to his wife.
The things consisted of six or seven books, a quantity of foolscap, an inkpot dangerously brimming, a paper-knife made of olive wood from Gethsemane, several pens and pencils, and a roll of blotting paper as white as the snow upon the summit of Mont Blanc, and so fat that John thought at first it was a tablecloth and wondered what his brother-in-law meant to do with it. He was even chilled by a brief and horrible suspicion that he was going to hold a communion service. Edith rose hastily from the table to help her husband unload himself.
"I'm so sorry, dear, why didn't you ring?"
"My dear, how could I ring without letting my materials drop?" Laurence asked, patiently.
"Or call?"
"My chin was too much occupied for calling. But it doesn't matter, Edith. As you see, I've managed to bring everything down quite safely."
"I'm so sorry," Edith went on. "I'd no idea...."
"I told you that I was going to begin work this morning."
"Yes, how stupid of me ... I'm so sorry...."
"Going to work, are you?" interrupted John, who was anxious to stop Edith's conjugal amenity. "That's capital."