It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. As usual Brendon lit the candles, and Sydney dragged out the spirit-lamp and set it going. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee.
“Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney.”
“Right!” he answered. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. Fresh ground, no chicory, and all the rest of it. But—Miss Pellissier!”
“Well?”
“Are you quite sure that you want us this evening? Wouldn’t you rather be alone? Just say the word, and we’ll clear out like a shot.”
She laughed softly.
“You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me.”
“Madman!”