As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. “I changed my last shilling yesterday. How the devil did you break a picture?’ ‘Don’t be obtuse, Hilary.
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