"Is it? Then blame yourself. Since my midday meal and before it I have seen no soul this day, and heard no voice but the clock. Here alone, suffering and chewing gall for six hours and more. But what does it matter so you were pleased with the sunset and your company?"
"Then where is uncle? Surely——? I am so sorry, dear one. We've muddled it between us, and each thought you were in the keeping of the other."
"Don't be sorry. What do I matter? Where have you been?"
"To Newton with Christo. And he sent you these lovely black grapes. I'm afraid I ate a few coming home, but I haven't spoiled the bunch."
"Eat the rest, then, or fling them into the fire. I don't want them."
"You're angry, Myles; and you have a right to be; yet it was only a dismal accident. We must light the fire, and I'll get you your tea, poor ill-used fellow. It was a shame, but I'm very, very penitent, and so will uncle be."
"I wish I could get out of your way. Such a bother for you to come back to a sick-room; and a sick animal in a house is a bore always—especially to you, who don't love animals."
The woman's eyes opened wide and she stared at him.
"Whatever do you mean?"
"You know well enough. I'm so exacting and my cough keeps you awake at night, and these drives in the fresh air behind Yeoland's big trotter must be such a relief to you. Why don't you ask him to drive you right away—to hell, and have done with it?"