Her matter-of-fact tone caused Morris to break into an irrepressible laugh, and after an instant she joined him. For a moment they enjoyed a delightful sense of companionship. But Morris speedily resumed his dejection, and even added to it a dash of recklessness that caused him to sit back as far as possible in the driving-seat and disregard the speed limit and his mother’s protests alike.
“Morris,” said Mrs. Severing bitterly, when the car had apparently spun round a sharp corner on one wheel, “do you ever think of anyone’s wishes but your own? I do all I can to please you—cut short a visit which I am enjoying, at the risk of hurting a great friend, come home with you simply because you wish it—and you can’t even do such a small thing as drive a little bit carefully when I beg you to.”
“What does it matter?” muttered Morris, in the tone of a desperado outfacing death.
“Only that it’s very bad form to be a road-hog,” suavely said Nina.
The shot told, for Morris was exceedingly proud of his driving, but discretion was never Mrs. Severing’s strongest weapon, and she added rashly:
“How little you know what it is to be highly strung, my poor Morris! My nerves have been a misery to me all my life long, and even if I’ve never said very much about it, that doesn’t mean I don’t suffer. No one can look at me,” said Nina with emotion, “and think me a strong woman.”
“Lady Cotton and Mrs. Tregaskis both told me they’d never seen you looking better,” said Morris viciously.
Nina’s slight laugh was compounded of annoyance and of a rather satirical compassion for the blindness of the authorities quoted.
“Dear Gwen! She always loves to say that I look better after staying with her. As for Bertie, she’s such a tower of strength herself, that I rather fancy nothing short of a broken leg would ever attract her attention. I’ve heard other people say the same thing about her too, dear, kind thing though she is.”
But Morris was annoyed.