Bee followed him into the old night nursery in a few moments. She looked with a practised eye at the bed and said: "That moron promised to put in a hot-water bottle and she has forgotten to do it."
"Don't worry," Brat said. "I'd only have put it out again. I don't use the things."
"You must think us a crowd of soft-livers," she said.
"I think you're a nice crowd," he said.
She looked at him and smiled.
"Tired?"
"Yes."
"Too tired for breakfast at eight-thirty?"
"That sounds luxuriously late to me."
"Did you enjoy it, that hard life-Brat?"