“I’ll get you some.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’m going to the kitchen with these things.”
As she went from the room carrying the tray he noticed how shabby she was. He was not irritated, but it seemed wrong, somehow. Presently she returned and laid a box of matches on the table.
“Thanks. I—”
“Yes.”
“I shall want a box. I’m just going out.”
“I see.”
“Got to—er—see some people. Might be rather good. Do my play, perhaps, and a big production job. Quite good, it might be.”
“I’m glad.”