Elsa was sitting with her eyes closed and a soft smile of pleasure curving her mouth.
'Go on,' she said, dreamily.
'"Nothing nicer."' resumed Martin, with an added touch of eloquence as the theme began to develop, '"for breakfast, lunch, or supper. Probably your grocer stocks them. Ask him. If he does not, write to us. Price fivepence per tin. The best sardines and the best oil!"'
'Isn't it lovely?' she murmured.
Her hand, as it swung, touched his. He held it. She opened her eyes.
'Don't stop reading,' she said. 'I never heard anything so soothing.'
'Elsa!'
He bent towards her. She smiled at him. Her eyes were dancing.
'Elsa, I—'
'Mr Keith,' said a quiet voice, 'desired me to say—'