"Isn't it worth a kiss, Dolly?" he asked softly.
Mrs. Rosewarne looked at him vaguely. "What! Oh, well, yes, if you like, I suppose." She bent towards him, and he touched her cheek gently. "But it was very nice of you to think of me," she said, withdrawing. "Come to breakfast now."
Rosewarne followed her into the breakfast-room, with a fresh access of impotence. He fumbled with his chair; the napkin fluttered out of his fingers; he pulled a plate to him, and the silver rattled under his clumsy action; a fork clattered to the floor. Mrs. Rosewarne winced.
"How very stupid you are to-day, Freddy!" she said pettishly.
He laughed a short meaningless laugh, and begged her pardon. Her movements were full of gentle grace; her breath came easily and with the best breeding. Her teacup tinkled sweetly, and only that and the soft sussurra of her sleeves marked her stately presence at the table. She looked at the bracelet comfortably, and lifted her cup to her lips. Rosewarne glanced at her timidly. The sickly light shone clear upon the fine contours of her placid face; the evil magic of that dreary day was transmuted upon her hair. She set down her cup and met his eyes.
"What a dreadful colour you are!" she said critically. The ghastly yellow of his face repelled her. "I wish you would set better, and not rise at such ridiculous hours." "I slept ill, Dolly," he answered with a faint smile. He resumed his breakfast feverishly. The knuckles of his hands seemed to stand out awkwardly; his elbows waggled; he mouthed at his food in a frightened fashion.
"Good heavens, Freddy," cried his wife, wrinkling her nose in distaste, "why do you eat like that? It s more like an animal than a human being. Your manners are becoming perfectly awful."
