" "Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland," observed Jonathan coldly. Take my word for it, your troubles are over. Them young prigs is all alike. ” Lucy became livid with rage. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper.
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