Upon a Sunday evening in February he discontentedly began to wait on her at supper.
"Dormouse," he called from the table, "what are you going to drink?"
To his surprise Vivette suddenly sat up:
"Champagne to-night. I'm going to be full of beans. I shall do Swedish drill in the morning."
"Not a day too soon," grumbled Peter. "I wonder you can stand it, eating butter and cream all day and lying on your back. You must have the liver of a horse."
"You are right," she retorted. "People pretend to despise me for being lazy. It's envy, Peter. Everybody would be lazy in the winter if their health would stand it."
She pushed away a plate of delicate soufflé.
"Not to-night, Peter. I'm going to eat some meat."
"I often wonder about you," said Peter.