“Why don’t you get a new one,” he said half irritably, “or at least cover it with a tea-cloth? I hate these black, scratched things. I don’t keep you short of money.”
She glanced towards the offending article.
“You don’t often see it, do you?” she queried. “I’m used to it; besides, I haven’t an artistic eye. Emma shall take it away if it displeases you.”
She rang the bell, and the woman who had opened the front door appeared.
“Take away the tea-things,” said Bridget carelessly. “Mr. Merton doesn’t like to see them.”
The woman piled the things on to the tray, and gathered the cloth in a bundle under one arm. She left the room with them.
There was a silence.
“Well,” said Bridget encouragingly, “five minutes of the hour have gone.”
Jasper moved impatiently. “I don’t know what is the matter with you this evening, Bridget. I don’t know you in this mood.”
She raised her eyebrows with a slightly mocking expression.