She got on to her feet, but then sat down again in his easy-chair.
“Not quite steady yet?” he said.
“Very nearly. I shall be quite ready to come downstairs and give you your tea by the time you have unpacked your little portmanteau.”
She did not even look at him, but sat turned away from him and the little portmanteau. But she heard the rustle of paper, the opening and shutting of drawers, the sound of metallic articles of toilet being deposited on dressing-table and washing-stand. After that came the click of a hasp. Then she got up.
“Now let us have tea,” she said.
“And if Millie comes?” he asked.
She had been determined that he should mention her name first. But when once he had mentioned it she was more than ready to discuss the questions that naturally arose.
“You mean she may come back here to see what has happened to you?” she asked. “That is well thought of, dear. Let us see. But we will go downstairs.”
She thought intently as they descended the staircase, and busied herself with tea-making before she got to her conclusion.
“She will ask for you,” she said, “if she comes, and it would not be very wise for you to see her. On the other hand, she must be told what has happened. I will see her, then. It would be best that way.”