Isabel watched him hesitate under the door, and glance nervously at her
husband. Pervin heard him and turned.

'Here you are, now,' said Isabel. 'Come, let us eat.'

Bertie went across to Maurice.

'How are you, Pervin,' he said, as he advanced.

The blind man stuck his hand out into space, and Bertie took it.

'Very fit. Glad you've come,' said Maurice.

Isabel glanced at them, and glanced away, as if she could not bear to see
them.

'Come,' she said. 'Come to table. Aren't you both awfully hungry? I am,
tremendously.'

'I'm afraid you waited for me,' said Bertie, as they sat down.

Maurice had a curious monolithic way of sitting in a chair, erect and
distant. Isabel's heart always beat when she caught sight of him thus.

'No,' she replied to Bertie. 'We're very little later than usual. We're
having a sort of high tea, not dinner. Do you mind? It gives us such a
nice long evening, uninterrupted.'

'I like it,' said Bertie.