It dawned upon Anthony that if he were not to seem a boor he must make an effort at intelligence. He strove to quiet the exuberant agility his heart had exhibited since her hand had touched his shoulder.
He did his best. “You didn’t like him, I gather,” he said.
She shook her head. “No. Not that I really disliked him. I just wasn’t quite comfortable whenever he was with me. You know. I always had to be nice, of course. Before my husband died they were always together. You see, they had the same tastes. They were about the same age, too.” She relapsed into silence.
“So they were much of an age, were they?” Anthony said to himself. “Now, that’s illuminating. Coates is over fifty.” He was about to speak aloud, but was forestalled.
“What on earth must you think of me?” Lucia cried. “Here are you, that’ve done all these miracles for us, all tired and wet, and I’m sitting here as if this was afternoon tea at the Vicar’s.” She ran to the bell. “First, you must have a drink. Whisky? That’s the second time I’ve forgotten my hospitality when you’ve been here.”
Anthony got his drink. When he had finished the second,
“You,” she said, “must go back to your inn. And you’ll have to walk, poor thing. My little car’s been out of action for a fortnight and I’ve sent away the one we hired for to-day. But the walk may do you good. You’ll get warm.”
Anthony set down his tumbler. “Exit Fairy Godmother.”
The great eyes burned him with their reproach.
“That’s not fair,” she said, and Anthony could have kicked himself. “You know it isn’t! What I want to do is to offer you a bed here. Well, there’s a bed, but nothing else. No razor. No pyjamas even. You’d be uncomfortable. And you’ve simply got to take care of yourself to-night!”