He was opening his letters, a process which made breakfast quite a nervous time for her, because one small reverse—no more than an unflattering review—upset him so and sometimes ruined his whole morning's work, which meant he would be silent and depressed at lunch-time.
To-day, however, having opened first the only letter in an unknown hand as promising the most adventure, he said with real exhilaration:
"Ah, that's encouraging. That bucks one up!"
"What, good news, Hugh dear?" she inquired, delighted.
"Yes, the Kit Kat Club has asked me as its guest of honour."
Inwardly she was a little disappointed; she had hoped it would be some money.
"How excellent!" she said, good wife; and then, "What is the Kit Kat Club?"
"Why, it's a well-known literary club," he answered, slightly hurt. "They meet"—he read the card again—"at Lewisham."
"Capital!" she said: not because she had ever heard of Lewisham as a great literary centre, but because he was so terrifically pleased. "And when is it to be?"
"Very short notice," he said, looking once more at the invitation. "This very Tuesday, January 29th. Lucky we never dine out!"