"That," said Ford, with venom, "is because I 'm being bored."
"The deuce you are." Mr. Samson was annoyed. "I don't want to talk to you, you know. Sulk all you want to; doesn't affect me. But if you could substitute a winnin' smile for the look you 're wearin' at present, it would be more appetizin'."
"Er—the rain seems to be drawing-off, I think," remarked Mrs. Jakes, energetically. "It might be quite fine by-and-by. What do you think, Mr. Samson?"
Mr. Samson, ever obedient to her prompting, made an inspection of the prospect through the window. But his sense of injury was strong.
"There are things much more depressing than rain," he said, rancorously, and occupied himself pointedly with his food.
Ford made his apology as soon as they were free from Mrs. Jakes. She had much to do in the unseen organization of the departure, and apologized for leaving them to themselves. It was another adjunct of the luggage; not within the memory of man had inmates of the Sanatorium sat at table without Mrs. Jakes.
"Sorry," said Ford then, in a matter-of-fact way.
"Are you?" said Mr. Samson grudgingly. "All right."
And that closed the incident.
Soon after breakfast, when the stoep was still uninhabitable and the drawing-room unthinkable and the hall uncongenial, Margaret came downstairs, unfamiliar in clothes which the Sanatorium had not seen before. Mrs. Jakes made mental notes of them, gazing with narrow eyes and lips moving in a soundless inventory. She came down smiling but uncertain.