Two speech-gifted human beings could hardly be expected to meet with less civility than two pigs, who would at least exchange a grunt.
He looks at his watch again. "It is ten minutes to six," he replies with punctilious politeness.
"Is it really? I had no idea how the time went," she says, apologetically, "until your look of—of—surprise reminded me."
The line of defence she has hit upon is unlucky.
"Really!" he answers, stiffly.
"I had not noticed how the light had gone, nor anything about the matter," she continues, innocently, floundering at every word into deeper disgrace.
"I daresay not," he replies, freezingly.
She had addressed him, penitent and humble, willing to take a scolding in all submissiveness, but the chill brevity of his answers turns her meekness to gall.
"When one is in pleasant company," she remarks, with a rather hysterical laugh, "one forgets the flight of time."
"Undoubtedly," replies Gerard, endeavouring to conceal his anger under an appearance of calmness, and unable to manage more than one word at a time.