Bowen banged the door savagely, and Peel rang to order breakfast.
During the meal Bowen pondered over the events of the previous evening, and in particular over Patricia's unreasonableness. His one source of comfort was that she had appealed to him to put things right about her aunt. That would involve his seeing her again. He did not, or would not, see that he was the only one to whom she could appeal.
Bowen always breakfasted in his own sitting-room; he disliked his fellow-men in the early morning. Looking up suddenly from the table he caught Peel's expressionless eye upon him.
"Peel."
"Yes, my lord."
"Why is it that we Englishmen dislike each other so at breakfast?"
Peel paused for a moment. "I've heard it said, my lord, that we're half an inch taller in the morning, perhaps our perceptions are more acute also."
Bowen looked at Peel curiously.
"You're a philosopher," he said, "and I'm afraid a bit of a cynic."
"I hope not, my lord," responded Peel.