“A bit heavy, surely!” Stephen Dallison's face, though also long and narrow, was not much like his brother's. His eyes, though not unkind, were far more scrutinising, inquisitive, and practical; his hair darker, smoother.
Letting a puff of smoke escape, he added:
“Now, that's the sort of man to give you a good sound opinion. You should have asked him, Cis.”
Cecilia answered with a frown:
“Don't chaff, Stephen; I'm perfectly serious about Mrs. Hughs.”
“Well, I don't see what I can do for the good woman, my dear. One can't interfere in these domestic matters.”
“But it seems dreadful that we who employ her should be able to do nothing for her. Don't you think so, B.?”
“I suppose we could do something for her if we wanted to badly enough.”
Bianca's voice, which had the self-distrustful ring of modern music, suited her personality.
A glance passed between Stephen and his wife.