"It cannot be said that you have taken much pains to please me of late," she answered coldly.
The servant announced dinner at that moment, and Reanda made no answer, though he glanced at her nervously. They went into the dining-room and sat down.
The storm brewed during the silent meal. Reanda scarcely ate anything, and drank a little weak wine and water.
"You hardly seem well enough to go out this evening," said Gloria, at last, but there was no kindness in the tone.
"I am perfectly well," he answered impatiently. "I will go with you."
"There is not the slightest necessity," replied his wife. "I can go alone, and you can go to bed."
"I tell you I am perfectly well!" he said with unconcealed annoyance. "Let me alone."
"Certainly. Nothing is easier."
The voice was full of that injured dignity which most surely irritated him, as Gloria knew. But the servant was in the room, and he said nothing, though it was a real effort to be silent. His tongue had been free that day, and it was hard to be bound again.
They finished dinner almost in silence, and then went back to the drawing-room by force of habit. Gloria was still in her walking-dress, but there was no hurry, and she resumed her favourite seat by the fire for a time, before going to dress for the reception.