THE RETURN
and she watched with fascination the convulsive movements his throat made while he drank.
"Hey, Mollie! Don't forget we're going to the Gunnings to-morrow. Write it down, my dear girl, write it down, and tell them about orderin' the cab." He always referred to Lydia obliquely as "they" or "them."
"Gunnin's a good fellow," he informed the fireplace.
"This cake is uneatable, Lydia. Wherever did you buy it?" Her grumble lacked conviction; it was a perfunctory concession to her distrust of her companion's housekeeping.
"Birch's. I'm sorry, Mrs. Tottenham. Aren't you ready for more tea? It's nice and hot for you, isn't it, after the journey?"
Lydia felt as though she had caught her own eye, and was embarrassed and discomfited. She listened with derision to her glib and sugary banalities of speech. "The perfect companion!" taunted the hostile self. "What about all those fine big truths and principles we reasoned out together? Yesterday we believed you were sincere. 'Nice and hot after the journey.' Bah!"
40
