“My brother Alan!”
“Oh! your brother? Well, I wasn't afraid for him, and it seemed a pity. Have some of this; it's about the only thing they do well here.”
“Oh, thank you, no. I've had a lovely lunch. Mother and I generally have about nothing.” And clasping her hands she added:
“This is a secret, isn't it, Mr. Cuthcott?”
“Dead.”
He laughed and his face melted into a mass of wrinkles. Nedda laughed also and drank up the rest of her wine. She felt blissful.
“Yes,” said Mr. Cuthcott, “there's nothing like loving. How long have you been at it?”
“Only five days, but it's everything.”
Mr. Cuthcott sighed. “That's right. When you can't love, the only thing is to hate.”
“Oh!” said Nedda.