“It’s you reminded me.”
He stared hostility for a space.
“Well, the things make a beastly litter anyhow; there isn’t a tidy corner anywhere in the room. There never is.”
“That’s just the sort of thing you always say.”
“Well—is there?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Where?”
Ethel professed not to hear. But a devil had possession of Lewisham for a time. “It isn’t as though you had anything else to do,” he remarked, wounding dishonourably.
Ethel turned. “If I put those things away,” she said with tremendous emphasis on the “put,” “you’d only say I’d hidden them. What is the good of trying to please you?”
The spirit of perversity suggested to Lewisham, “None apparently.”