The colour was a little plainer in her face than usual when she quietly entered the room where he lay, pipe in hand, in a lounge chair, and, for it seemed that he did not immediately notice her, his attitude of languid ease irritated her. There were, as she had seen, several things which should evidently have had some claim on his attention outside. A litter of letters and papers lay upon a little table at his side, but the fact that he could not reach them as he lay was suggestive. Then he rose, and came forward with outstretched hand.
"It seemed that he did not immediately notice her."
"I didn't hear you," he said. "This is a pleasure I scarcely anticipated."
Agatha sat down in the chair he drew out for her near the stove, and he seemed to notice that she glanced at the papers on the table, for he laughed.
"Bills, and things of that kind. They've been worrying me for a week or two," he said. Then he seized the litter, and bundling it together flung it into an open drawer, which he shut with a snap. "Anyway, that's the last of them for to-day. I'm awfully glad you drove over."
Agatha smiled. The action was so characteristic of the man. She had once found no fault with Gregory's careless habits, and his way of thrusting a difficulty into the background and making light of it had appealed to her. It had suggested his ability to straighten out the trouble when it appeared advisable. Now, she said, she would not be absurdly hypercritical, and he had, as it happened, given her the lead that she desired.
"I should have fancied that you would have had to give them more attention as wheat is going down," she said.
Hawtrey looked at her with an air of reproach. "It must be nearly three weeks since I have seen you, and now you expect me to talk of farming." He made a whimsically rueful gesture. "If you quite realised the situation it would be about the last thing you would ask me to do."