“Oh, much better,” I answered airily, and with an effort at self-possession followed him into the imitation old-oak dining-room, which Gedge had shown me during our tour of the place.
The woman with the powdered cheeks was already seated at the head of the table, erect and stately, with an expression of hauteur which ill became her.
“I hope you feel better after your walk,” she said, as I seated myself.
“Oh, much better,” I responded in a tone of irony. “The pain has practically passed.”
“You should really rest,” she said, in that squeaky, artificial tone which so jarred upon my nerves. “Do take the doctor’s advice.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to make a further unwriteable remark regarding the doctor, but I managed to control myself and reply—
“Yes, I think after luncheon I shall lie down for a little time. I have, however, some pressing letters to write first.”
“Let Gedge attend to your correspondence for to-day,” she urged, with that mock juvenility which rendered her so hideously ridiculous.
“No,” I responded. “I have, unfortunately, to attend to several pressing matters personally. Afterwards I will rest.”
“Do, there’s a dear,” she said.