She shook hands with John. Her manner was a little too cordial. “Supper is quite ready,” she said. “Please sit down.” She had served a joint of beef, mashed potatoes browned, some creamed vegetables. Thane surveyed the food.
“Nothing fried?” he said.
“Shall I fry you something?” she asked. “It won’t take a minute.” Her tone puzzled John. It expressed patience, readiness, even tractability, and yet submissiveness was in a subtle sense explicitly denied.
“I was only fooling,” Thane replied. He whetted the carving knife carefully, as for a feat of precision, ran his thumb over the edge and applied it to the roast with an extremely deft effect.
“Did you buy the house?” John asked. “It’s very charming.”
The note failed. He felt Agnes looking at him.
“Rent it,” said Thane. “Mrs. Thane thought we’d better rent a while, maybe as we’d want another shape of house afterward. I want her to get a girl. She says there ain’t nothing for a girl to do.”
There was a silence. John did not know which side to take. He spoke highly of the food.
“Mr. Thane tells me you also have left the hotel,” she said.
“You get tired of it,” John answered absently. He was wondering what to make of the fact that they were Mr. and Mrs. to each other. Twice he had been at the point of calling her Agnes. He wished to get one full look at her and tried to surprise her eyes. She avoided him. Then as if accepting a challenge she met his gaze steadily and utterly baffled his curiosity.