MRS. MORLAND. Let me down, you great bear. You know how I hate to be rumpled.
MR. MORLAND. Not she, loves it. Always did. Get off your greatcoat, Simon. Down with it anywhere.
MRS. MORLAND (fussing delightedly). How cold your hands are. Come nearer to the fire.
MR. MORLAND. He is looking fit, though.
SIMON. We need to be fit—these days.
MRS. MORLAND. So nice to have you again. You do like duck, don’t you? The train was late, wasn’t it?
SIMON. A few minutes only. I made a selfish bolt for the one cab, and got it.
MR. MORLAND. We thought you might be walking across the fields.
SIMON. No, I left the fields to the two other people who got out of the train. One of them was a lady; I thought something about her walk was familiar to me, but it was darkish, and I didn’t make her out.
MRS. MORLAND. Bertha Colinton, I expect. She was in London to-day.