(“That was the time she bit him,” thought Georgie.) Aloud he said:
“Of course you must feel it dreadfully. What is the Sargent? A kit-cat or a full length?”
“Full length, I believe,” said Lucia. “I don’t know where we could put it here. And a William III whatnot. But of course it is not possible to think about that yet. A glass of port?”
“I’m going to give you one,” said Georgie, “it’s just what you want after all your worries and griefs.”
Lucia pushed her glass toward him.
“Just half a glass,” she said. “You are so dear and understanding, Georgie; I couldn’t talk to anyone but you, and perhaps it does me good to talk. There is some wonderful port in Auntie’s cellar, Pepino says.”
“Let us go into the music-room,” she said. “We will talk a little more, and then play our Mozart if I feel up to it.”
“That’ll do you good too,” said Georgie.
Lucia felt equal to having more illumination than there had been when she rose out of the shadows before dinner, and they established themselves quite cosily by the fire.