Suddenly, without turning his head, he spoke to her.
"I suppose if I ask what's the matter you'll tell me to go to the devil."
The remark, though characteristic, was totally unexpected. Sybil stared at him for a moment. Then, as once before, his rude address set her sense of humour a-quivering. Depressed, miserable though she was, she began to laugh.
He turned, and looked at her sideways.
"No doubt I am very funny," he observed dryly.
She checked herself with an effort.
"Oh, I know I'm horrid to laugh. But it's not that I am ungrateful. There is nothing really the matter. I—I'm feeling rather like a stray cat this morning, that's all."
The smile still lingered about her lips as she said it. Somehow, telling this taciturn individual of her trouble deprived it of much of its bitterness.
Mercer displayed no sympathy. He did not even continue to look at her. But she did not feel that his impassivity arose from lack of interest.
Suddenly: