'You asked me what I thought, and I've told you,' said Wemyss.
No, it wouldn't be an impulsive affection, hers and Everard's, she felt; it would, when it did come, be the result of slow and careful preparation,—line upon line, here a little and there a little.
'Won't you go in?' he asked; and she perceived he had pushed the dining-room door open and was holding it back with his arm while she, thinking this, lingered.
'That,' she thought, 'is another to Everard,'—her second bungle; first the light left on in her room, now keeping him waiting.
She hurried through the door, and then, vexed with herself for hurrying, walked to her chair with almost an excess of deliberation.
'The doctor——' she began, when they were in their places, and Chesterton was hovering in readiness to snatch the cover off the soup the instant Wemyss had finished arranging his table-napkin.
'I wish to hear nothing about the doctor,' he interrupted.
Miss Entwhistle gave herself pains to be undaunted, and said with almost an excess of naturalness, 'But I'd like to tell you.'
'It is no concern of mine,' he said.
'But you're her husband, you know,' said Miss Entwhistle, trying to sound pleasant.