When Bradley was out of the room, Sir Richmond remarked: "I
saw that nerves man, Dr. Martineau, to-day. He wants me to
take a holiday. "
The quiet patience of the lady's manner intensified. She said
nothing. A flash of resentment lit Sir Richmond's eyes. When
he spoke again, he seemed to answer unspoken accusations.
"Dr. Martineau's idea is that he should come with me."
The lady adjusted herself to a new point of view.
"But won't that be reminding you of your illness and
worries?"
"He seems a good sort of fellow. . . . I'm inclined to like
him. He'll be as good company as anyone. . . . This TOURNEDOS
looks excellent. Have some."
"I had a little bird," said Lady Hardy, "when I found you
weren't coming."
"But I say--don't wait here if you've dined. Bradley can see
to me."
She smiled and shook her head with the quiet conviction of
one who knew her duty better. "Perhaps I'll have a little ice
pudding when it comes," she said.
Sir Richmond detested eating alone in an atmosphere of
observant criticism. And he did not like talking with his
mouth full to an unembarrassed interlocutor who made no
conversational leads of her own. After a few mouthfuls he
pushed his plate away from him. "Then let's have up the ice
pudding," he said with a faint note of bitterness.
"But have you finished--?"
"The ice pudding!" he exploded wrathfully. "The ice pudding!"
Lady Hardy sat for a moment, a picture of meek distress.
Then, her delicate eyebrows raised, and the corners of her
mouth drooping, she touched the button of the silver table-bell.
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