“Dad and the mater invite us to go to Park Lane till the end of July,” he said. “I’m blowed if there are many fathers who would want a son and daughter-in-law in the house all the time. Of course I said that I must consult you first; that was only proper.”
“Oh, Claude,” said she, “of course it’s awfully kind. But, but do you think so?”
“But why not? It’s just like the governor to have guessed that we should feel stuffy and cramped in the flat during this hot weather.”
Dora remembered her letter.
“I’m afraid I may be responsible for that,” she said. “At least I wrote to your mother yesterday saying it was very hot and airless here. Oh dear, I hope she won’t think I hinted at this.”
“Not she. You don’t catch her imputing motives, specially when there weren’t any. She’s got more to think about than that. I say, Dora, are you sure you didn’t have that in your mind? Awfully sharp of you if you did.”
Dora resented this; indignant that he could have supposed her capable of it, and a little of this indignation coloured her words.
“I’m afraid that I can’t lay claim to sharpness,” she said, “because the fact is that if I had thought such an offer was possible, I should have said it was cool and airy here.”
Claude’s profile was outlined against the hot, hard blue of the sky outside, and Dora noticed how perfect it was. But she noticed it in some detached sort of way; it did not seem to concern her. At this he turned round, and came across the room to her.
“What’s the matter, dear?” he said. “Why is it you don’t want to go?”