"Seeing that it's six weeks since I left it, and that I have been traveling night and day since I landed, you are rather hard on the old country."
So she answered him, her fingers in the tea caddy, and her eyes with them. The lamplight shone upon her freckles as Swift studied her anxiously. Perhaps, as she hinted, she was only tired.
"I say, I can't have you making tea for me!" Swift exclaimed nervously. "You are worn out, and I am accustomed to doing all this sort of thing for myself."
"Then you will have the kindness to unaccustom yourself! I am mistress here until papa is fit to be moved."
And not a day longer. He knew it by the way she avoided his eyes. Yet he was forced to make conversation.
"Why do you warm the teapot?"
"It is the proper thing to do."
"I never knew that!"
"I dare say it isn't the only thing you never knew. I shouldn't wonder if you swallowed your coffee with cold milk?"
"Of course we do—when we have coffee."