“Eleven o’clock.” She had shattered the silence he had built.
“You don’t call that late” said Dr. von Heber released and rushing to rescue her. He sat bland and square and simple beneath the coming long procession of years and days; but his firmly dimpled swift Canadian smile, brilliant with the flash of the flawless perfect arch of his strong even teeth brought past and future into the moment, giving them to the sudden charm of this meeting, referring back to that first evening by the table.
“Oh no; it’s frightfully early.”
“That’s a most delightful hyperbole.”
“I shall summons you for calling me an isosceles triangle.”
Dr. Wayneflete laughed too ... a small sound drowned by Dr. Hurd’s thwack on the arm of his chair as he flung back his head for his laugh.
“It has been wonderful to-day, don’t you think? Did you see the extraordinary light this afternoon?”
“Well no; we were all of us immured, but we were out this evening; we thought it the best specimen of London weather we’d struck so far.”
“There’s nothing whatever the matter with London weather. It’s perfect; the most perfect in the world.” Dr. Hurd resumed his shakings of laughter, restrained to listen. Dr. Winchester was sitting bent forward smiling dreamily.
“I know you won’t like me to call that a hyperbole, but you won’t quite expect me to say I unreservedly agree.”