“I thought you ordered it for a quarter-past seven, Madame,” replied Sonia, with quiet firmness.
“Oh, did I? I’d forgotten.”
She pushed away the writing-paper and got up.
“D’you mind dining so early?” she asked Dion, looking at him for the first time since he had read his letters.
“No,” he replied, in a voice which had no color at all. His face was set like a mask.
“Do you want to wash your hands? If so, Sonia will bring you some hot water to the spare room.”
“Thanks, I’ll go; but I prefer cold water.”
He went out of the room carrying the opened letters with him. After a moment Sonia came back.
“I hope I didn’t do wrong about dinner, Madame,” she said. “I thought as Monsieur Leith came so early Madame would wish dinner earlier.”
Mrs. Clarke put her hand on her servant’s substantial arm.