Clodagh put her hand to her face with a startled gesture.
"No! Do I look ill? It's the storm. The storm has got on my nerves. We develop nerves in London, you know!" Again she attempted to laugh.
Once more Asshlin accepted her explanation, as something he had no authority to question.
"I want you to talk, Larry!" she added hurriedly. "I want you to talk. Say anything! Take me out of myself!"
She raised her glass to her lips and drank some of the wine. It brought a faint tinge of colour to her cheeks, but only increased the bright darkness of her eyes.
While Asshlin consumed his dinner, she sat very upright in her chair, sipping her wine from time to time or breaking small mouthfuls from her bread.
At last, having hovered anxiously about her, Burke made bold to speak his thoughts.
"Is it the way the chicken isn't nice, ma'am?" he ventured.
She started, as she had started each time she had been directly addressed.
"No, Burke! Oh no!" she said hastily. "The chicken is very nice. It's only that the storm has—has given me a headache."