"Oh, nonsense! One only point can be urged in his favour—that he is a patrician."
"That he is what?" cried Mr. Grubb, who was drinking his coffee at the moment, and did not hear the word.
"A patrician. Not a plebeian."
The offensive stress laid by Adela on the last word, the marked scorn sitting on her lips, brought a flush to her husband's brow. Nothing seemed to afford her so much gratification as to throw out these lance-shafts to Mr. Grubb, on what she was pleased to term his plebeian origin.
"Do you wish for more coffee?" she asked ungraciously.
"No. I have not time for it. I must make the best of my way into the City, if I am to get back to luncheon."
"There is not the least necessity for you to get back," was her slighting remark. "You will not be missed, if you don't come."
"By yourself, no. I am aware of that. But I do not care to be so lacking in common courtesy as to disregard the express wish of Miss Upton."
"She may have expressed it out of mere politeness."
"Miss Upton is not one to express a wish out of mere politeness," replied Mr. Grubb, as he gathered up some papers of his that were by the side of his plate. "Besides, I shall like to see her."