“Surely you will not desert me?” appealed Margaret.
“Mr. Brett, how can you be so heartless?” cried Helen.
“Your words cut me to the bone,” he answered, with an easy smile, “but in this matter I must be adamant. My dear ladies, pray consider. What a world we should live in if people went without their meals because they were worried. Three days of such treatment would end the South African War, give Ireland Home Rule, bring even the American Senate to reason. A week of it would extinguish the human race. If the system has such potentialities, is it unreasonable to ask whether or not any single individual—even Mr. Capella—is worth the loss of a cup of tea because he chooses to go to Naples?”
A servant entered.
“Is it to be for three, or none?” inquired Brett, compelling Margaret to meet his gaze.
“James, bring tea at once,” said Mrs. Capella.
The barrister accepted this partial surrender. He looked out over the park.
“What lovely weather!” Brett exclaimed. “How delightful it must be at the sea-side just now! Really, I am greatly tempted to run up to Whitby for a few days. Have you ever been there, Mrs. Capella? Or you, Miss Layton? No! Well, let me recommend the north-east coast of Yorkshire as a cure for all ills. Do you know that, within the next fortnight, you can, if energetic enough, see from the cliffs at Whitby the sun rise and set in the sea? It is the one place in England where such a sight is possible. And the breeze there! When it blows from the north, it comes straight from the Polar Sea. There is no land intervening. Naples—evil-smelling, dirty Naples! Pah! Who but a lunatic would prefer Naples to Whitby in July!”
Margaret was now incensed, Helen surprised, and even slightly amused.
Brett rattled on, demanding and receiving occasional curt replies. The tea came.