"Yes, it is rather quaint. We'll go through to the library first."
Then, but not until that moment, not until she had passed through the white heat of the fire, and had felt her spirit charred, did any help come to her. Traill opened the door abruptly and came into the room. From the set line of his lips, both of them could see that his temper was loose. His shutting of the door, every action, was an expression of feeling to which an innate sense of politeness made him deny speech. He crossed the room without hesitation to join them, shaking hands with his sister.
"They told me you were here, Dolly," he said, all pleasure of meeting her stamped utterly from his voice.
"Well, I suppose they did," she replied with a laugh. "Besides, didn't you see the car? I motored over this morning. That reminds me—" She played with self-possession, it came so easily to her. "That reminds me. Garrett wants a clean collar. Did you see Garrett?"
"Yes."
"Well, did you ever see such a filthy collar as he's wearing in all your life?"
"I don't know—" He crushed her flippancy with the tone in his voice, the look in his eyes. "I don't go about looking at other people's linen."
"No, but you'd have to if you sat behind Garrett as I did this morning for something over an hour. You couldn't help noticing it."
"Well, you can't expect a servant to be clean, can you?" he retorted. "If he hides his uncleanliness that's all you can demand of him."
She broke into a light, ringing laugh at his ironical humour; but he took no notice of that.