Even Helena, so bad at scenting irony, could guess that he did not mean that.
"Of course she isn't," she replied; "but I've lost the lovely little watch she gave me, and I did love it so." She tried not to let too much sorrow come into her voice. He always looked upon her as a baby, anyhow.
Surely he was sorry? He said nothing. He looked at her so oddly that she grew alarmed.
"Isn't it awful?" she added uneasily.
Hubert rose slowly to his feet. "Really, Helena," he said, "you don't mean you've broken my whole morning's work just to tell me you've lost some silly trinket? You might have waited until lunch-time. Now, my whole chapter—well, it simply means I've got to start it all again."
He took up a sheet of paper, tore it dramatically through, and let the two halves fall upon the carpet. Helena, full of an astounded guilt, looked down to see how much of his work her thoughtlessness had wasted. But all the writing must have been upon the under side....
"Oh, Hugh dear," she said, longing to touch him yet not daring quite; he looked so cross and tall. "I am sorry. It was stupid of me. But I thought you'd be sorry and could—could do something."
She ended lamely and he was not touched by her faith in him.
"Of course," he said bitterly, "I shall at once scour the heath, like a police dog, on my hands and knees. I shall watch the termini. I shall telephone——"
"Oh, I am sorry," she broke in, "awfully. I never thought all that of course. I simply felt it was so terrible and you might help, because you always know about things, somehow."