“I like you in brown,” she answered, simply. “I should change, if I were you.”
He smiled faintly.
“I believe,” he said, “that you have a sort of superstition that as I change my clothes I change my humors.”
“Should I be so very far wrong?” she asked. “Don’t think that I am laughing at you, Peter. The greatest men in the world have had their foibles.”
Peter Ruff frowned.
“We shall be away for several days,” he said. “Be sure that you take some wraps. It will be cold, crossing.”
“Are you going to close the office altogether?” she asked.
Peter Ruff nodded.
“Put up a notice,” he said—“‘Back on Friday.’ Pack up your books and take them round to the Bank before you leave. The lift man will call you a taxi-cab.”
He watched her preparations with a sort of gloomy calm.