“If you would like it, Bernard.” She had dreaded lest he should find their presence displeasing.
He reassured her, and then they sat down to the meal. The rain had begun and was blowing against the windows. Kingcote ate little; his sister only drank a cup of tea.
“This is not the kind of food you need,” he said. “I must ask you to do as I wish for a time, and have care for yourself. Have you any servant?”
She shook her head. “But you can’t possibly do house-work at present.” There was something a little dictatorial in Kingcote’s way of speaking; a mere habit, but one which Mary knew of old, and which half accounted for her timorous regard of him.
“Mrs. Bolt has been so kind,” she said, “when I really wasn’t able to do things.”
“Yes; but we cannot trouble her. What, by-the-bye, are the terms on which you hold these rooms?”
“From quarter to quarter. We pay twenty-five pounds a year, and have to give a quarter’s notice.”
“Then it is impossible to remove till the end of June? I’m very sorry for that.”
“Mrs. Bolt might take things into account, and let us——”
“No, certainly not,” said her brother abruptly. “But I think I shall pay her the quarter and go as soon as I can find another place.”