“What? Aren’t you coming for another couple of months?”
“I don’t think Blackstable suits me very well. I’m always ill there.”
“Oh, nonsense. It’s the finest air in England. Deathrate practically nil.”
“D’you think our life was very happy, Edward?”
She looked at him anxiously to see how he would take the tentative remark: but he was only astonished.
“Happy? Yes, rather. Of course we had our little tiffs. All people do. But they were chiefly at first, the road was a bit rough and we hadn’t got our tyres properly blown out. I’m sure I’ve got nothing to complain about.”
“That of course is the chief thing,” said Bertha.
“You look as well as anything now. I don’t see why you shouldn’t come back.”
“Well, we’ll see later. We shall have plenty of time to talk it over.”
She was afraid to speak the words on the tip of her tongue; it would be easier by correspondence.