"Even a boarded-out Olympus?"
"Here is your hovel," Nash said, switching on the light and standing aside to let Lucy enter the bright little cell, so gay and antiseptic in the unshaded brilliance. After the subtleties of the summer evening and the grace of the Georgian drawing-room, it was like an illustration from one of the glossier American magazines. "I am glad I happened to see you because I have a confession to make. I won't be bringing your breakfast tomorrow."
"Oh, that is all right," Lucy was beginning, "I ought to get up in any case-"
"No, I don't mean that. Of course not. It is just that young Morris asked if she might do it-she is one of the Juniors-and-"
"The abductor of George?"
"Oh, yes, I forgot you were there. Yes, that one. And she seemed to think that her life would not be complete unless she had brought up your breakfast on your last morning, so I said that as long as she didn't ask for your autograph or otherwise make a nuisance of herself, she could. I hope you don't mind. She is a nice child, and it would really give her pleasure."
Lucy, who didn't mind if her breakfast was brought by a wall-eyed and homicidal negro so long as she could eat the leathery toast in peace and quiet, said she was grateful to young Morris, and anyhow it wasn't going to be her last morning. She was going to stay on and take a lecture on Thursday.
"You are! Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so glad. Everyone will be glad. You are so good for us."
"A medicine?" Lucy wrinkled her nose in protest.
"No, a tonic."