The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. She was watching him intently.
“Do you know,” she said, “that every one is remarking how ill you look. I too can see it. What has been the matter?”
“Toothache,” he answered laconically.
She looked away.
“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason.”
“Oh, I might,” he answered, “have gone further still. I might have told you the truth.”
“Has my sister been unkind to you?”
“The family,” he declared, “has not treated me with consideration.”
She looked at him doubtfully.