“You only think? You aren’t sure? I do love these little muddles tidied up?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Wilcox, moving with uneasiness beneath the clothes. “I always sound uncertain over things. It is my way of speaking.”
“That’s all right, and I’m sure too.”
Here the maid came in to remove the breakfast-tray. They were interrupted, and when they resumed conversation it was on more normal lines.
“I must say good-bye now—you will be getting up.”
“No—please stop a little longer—I am taking a day in bed. Now and then I do.”
“I thought of you as one of the early risers.”
“At Howards End—yes; there is nothing to get up for in London.”
“Nothing to get up for?” cried the scandalized Margaret. “When there are all the autumn exhibitions, and Ysaye playing in the afternoon! Not to mention people.”
“The truth is, I am a little tired. First came the wedding, and then Paul went off, and, instead of resting yesterday, I paid a round of calls.”