'What do you mean?'
'Well, if you choose to write a very fervent letter to a very improper person, people will say—it is no use denying it—they will say What a fine day it is, but hot.'
Bertie got up.
'That is all I have to say,' he said.
'People are so ill-natured,' said Mrs. Emsworth.
The catlike laziness had left her, though her attitude was the same; instead of looking sensuously lazy, she looked very alert.
'Good-bye, then,' said Bertie; 'we meet next week at Long Island.'
'Yes; it will be very pleasant,' said she.
He left the room without more words, and for five minutes she remained where she was. But slowly, as she lay there, the enjoyment and the purring content faded completely out of her face. Then it grew hard and sad; eventually, with a long-drawn sigh, half sob, she got up and called to her dog. He rose limb by massive limb, and laid his head on her lap.
'Teddy R.,' she said, 'we are devils. But there are two worse devils than you and I. One has just gone away; one is just coming. Worse-devil one is worse because he thinks—he thinks that of me. Worse-devil two is worse because he—he did that to me. So—so you and I will think nothing more about it at all, but keep our spirits up.'