“That—I thought it was natural.”
“You thought it was natural?”
There was a profound, if very bitter, compassion in her voice.
“Poor old boy!” she added.
Lord Holme looked desperately uncomfortable. His legs were in a most violent, even a most pathetic commotion, and he tugged his moustache with the fingers of both hands.
“Damned cheek!” he muttered. “Damned cheek!”
He turned suddenly as if he were going to stride about the room.
“Don’t get angry,” said his wife. “I never did.”
He swung round and faced her.
“D’you mean you’ve always known she was mimickin’ you?”