“And yet the deluge never came.”
“It never does. I could almost wish it would.”
“Now?”
“No; after me.”
He looked deep into her eyes, and as he did so she seemed deliberately to make them more profound so that he might not touch bottom.
“It’s difficult to think of an after you,” he said.
“But there will be, I suppose, some day when the Prince of Wales wears a grey beard and goes abroad in the winter to escape bronchial troubles. Oh, dear! What a brute Time is!”
She tried to look pathetic, and succeeded better than Craven had expected.
“I shall put up my en tout cas then,” said Craven very seriously.
Still looking pathetic, she allowed her eyes to stray to a neighbouring mirror, waited for a moment, then smiled.