“I will,” said Clare.
There was silence for a little while, except for Clare’s dream-music. Mrs. Heywood dozed over her knitting, and her head nodded on her chest. Presently Herbert rose from his chair and touched the electric bell. A moment later Mollie came in.
“Yes?” asked Mollie.
Herbert spoke quietly so that he should not interrupt his wife’s music.
“Bring me The Financial Times, Mollie. It’s in my study.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mollie.
She brought the paper and left the room again. There was another silence, except for the soft notes of the music. Herbert turned over the pages of The Financial Times, and yawned a little, and then let the paper drop. His head nodded and then lolled sideways. In a little while he was as fast asleep as his mother, and snored, quietly at first, then quite loudly.
Clare stopped playing, and looked over the music-rest with a strange, tragic smile at her husband and her mother-in-law. She rose from the piano-stool, and put her hands to her head, and then at her throat, breathing quickly and jerkily, as though she were being stifled.
“A jolly evening!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “Oh, God!”
She stared round the room, with rather wild eyes.