Dinner finished, they went back into the drawing-room for coffee.
“Wickie,” said Madeline, “you’ve been sleeping better lately, haven’t you?”
He had not, but because she looked anxious he said yes, he thought he had.
“Ah!” she cried triumphantly. “I knew it! Wickie, I’ve been deceiving you. I’ve been giving you a new sort of coffee, with no caffeine in it!”
“Shouldn’t have known it,” he said, smiling at her.[Pg 549]
She had risen, and was standing by the radio. She smiled back at him over her shoulder and then began to turn the dial.
“There!” she said.
An orchestra was playing a waltz—a Spanish rhythm, with clicking castanets.
“Charles!” she said.
But Charles Hackett did not answer. He sat smoking a cigarette, with his coffee cup before him, and staring down at his worn and carefully polished shoes.