She was going to say 'My own home,' but the words wouldn't come off her tongue. Wemyss had repeatedly during the day spoken of his home, but not once had he said 'our' or 'your'; and if ever a house didn't feel as if it in the very least belonged, too, to her, it was this one.
'Not yet,' he said briefly.
She wondered. 'Not yet?' she repeated.
'I'm waiting for the bread and butter.'
'But won't the tea get cold?'
'No doubt. And it'll be entirely that fool's fault.'
'But——' began Lucy, after a silence.
'Buts again?'
'I was only thinking that if we had it now it wouldn't be cold.'
'She must be taught her lesson.'