She could never accustom herself to being rated in public, and the colour rushed to her face as she answered in a low tone: “I have not been very well, Adam.”
He gave a sardonic bark of laughter at this. “Oh, you’ve not been very well!” he said, mimicking her. “That’s always your bleat!”
Bart crossed the room with a plate of sandwiches, which he offered to Penhallow. “Hit one of your own size, Guv’nor!” he said briefly.
Penhallow looked up at him under his brows. “You, for instance?”
Bart grinned. “Sure! Go ahead!”
Penhallow put up a hand, and pulled his ear. “Coming out as a champion, are you?” His glance swept the room, and alighted on Clay for an instant. He took a sandwich, and addressed his wife again. “I notice it isn’t your own brat who stands up for you, my dear,” he remarked.
Clay turned scarlet, and tried to look as though he had not heard this sally. It was at this moment that Raymond entered the room.
Penhallow forgot about his wife. He seemed to straighten himself in his chair when he saw Raymond. “Didn’t expect to find me up, did you?” he demanded challengingly.
Raymond’s face was always impassive; it showed no change of expression now. “I don’t know that I thought much about it either way,” he replied. He walked over to the table, and waited to receive his tea-cup from Clara’s hands.
“You’re lookin’ tired, Ray,” she remarked.