She began to speak quickly, and her voice had a curious new little note in it that interested her husband, and made him turn his eyes on her more than once. But she was talking too fast to notice him, then she had the wind to fight. Besides all this, wild ideas of touches and such like began to float about her brain in rather a frantic way.
She brought herself to reason with a shake, fortunately perhaps, the time being hardly fitting to launch out on any new line.
When Gwen was coming down to tea in a wonderful gown of white velvet with slashes of crocus yellow, she met Tolly, now the valet’s young man, carrying off an armful of Strange’s wet clothes. By some sudden impulse she stopped and accosted him.
“I hope you will be happy here,” she said, if the truth must be told, in rather a shy way, the experience was so new and shocking.
“You must try to keep away from gin,” she added sagely, “and then you will be sure to get on well. I know your master wants you to.”
Tolly gave a wild dab at his red mat of stubble, muttered inarticulately and fled.
“Oh, what made me do it, what? That horror will haunt me for a week. What is Humphrey made of that he can endure the constant sight of him? And now I remember, Mrs. Fellowes told me one day, he nursed that awful thing for three weeks once, because it whimpered at the thought of a hospital. Imagine that mouth, that nose, that ghastly whole, in delirium, oh imagine the mere touch of those flabby paws with their great red knobs—those knobs fascinated me and, ugh! they have got into my eyes! Without doubt I have a remarkable man for a husband! I wish, oh, I wish I had my tea, I am dying for it, I think I must be tired.”
She sank down into a big chair and put her feet out to catch the heat, then she put her hands up and set to to rub her eyes, in a foolish futile effort to clear her whirling brain, and then Strange and the tea came in.
“I have seen Tolly,” she said, giving him some tea.
“In that gown?”