“Do you like sewing?”
“Yes, sir; can sew beautiful.”
John lounged about the rose-covered room. What could he say next. On previous visits he had discoursed on their proposed life together, and she had been singularly unresponsive. He had also plugged her mind full, as he hoped, of moral precepts which should be of great value hereafter. But being no original aphorist, he had exhausted his ready-made stock. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked out of the window. The little town of Southcliff lay hidden below the bluff, and all that he saw was the Sussex weald lit by the May sunshine and rolling lazily in pasture and woodland into the hazy distance. Within, the monotonous scrabble of the needle going in and out of stiff material alone broke the silence.
Presently the maid came in.
“Miss Stella's compliments, sir, and if you 're disengaged, she would like to speak to you for a minute.”
She had a habit of summoning thus politely, but autocratically, her high ministers of state.
“I will come to Miss Stella immediately,” said John. He turned to Unity. “Now that you can get about again, I suppose Lady Blount has told you not to go to the other side of the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you understand why?”
She raised her eyebrows. Having lived under the despotism of the world authorities, she had never dreamed of questioning the why and wherefore of any ordinance.