Mrs. Hannay took a seat beside him.
"And what did you think of the dinner?" said she.
"It was a dead failure, Pussy."
"You old stupid, I mean the dinner, not the dinner-party."
Mrs. Hannay rubbed her soft, cherubic face against his sleeve, and as she did so she gently removed the whiskey from his field of vision. She was a woman of exquisite tact.
"Oh, the dinner, my plump Pussy-cat, was a dream—a happy dream."
CHAPTER XII
"There are moments, I admit," said Majendie, "when Hannay saddens me."
Anne had drawn him into discussing at breakfast-time their host and hostess of the night before.