"Oh, I say, you know…" But he had nothing to say. The sniffing Stevens, disapproval strongly marked upon her countenance, here brought in a tray with coffee and rolls. Margaret, recovering herself with an effort, motioned her to set it down.
"You ought to make her take it," Stevens said to Dr. Kennedy indignantly, "disturbing her before she's breakfasted. She's had nothing inside her lips." He was glad of the interruption.
"You stay and back me up, then." Together they persuaded or forced her to the coffee, she could not eat, and was impatient that Stevens and the tray should go away. Her outburst was over, but she was pitiably shaken.
"He'll come round, all right," Peter said awkwardly, when they were alone again. She looked at him with fear in her eyes:
"Do you really think so?"
"Who wouldn't?"
"You don't think he would go up to London without seeing me?"
"Not likely."
She spoke again presently. In the interval Peter conjured up the image of Gabriel Stanton, speaking to her as he had to him, refusing compromise, harshly unapproachable, rigid.
"I could never go through what I went through before."
