dining-room armchair and finely poised between devotion and martyrdom. A
shadow of vexation fell athwart his mind at the sight of her.

"I'd no idea it was so late," he said. "I heard no gong."

"After you swore so at poor Bradley I ordered that there should be no
gongs when we were alone. I did come up to your door about half past
eight. I crept up. But I was afraid I might upset you if I came in."

"But you've not waited--"

"I've had a mouthful of soup." Lady Hardy rang the bell.

"I've done some work at last," said Sir Richmond, astride on the
hearthrug.

"I'm glad," said Lady Hardy, without gladness. "I waited for three
hours."

Lady Hardy was a frail little blue-eyed woman with uneven shoulders and
a delicate sweet profile. Hers was that type of face that under even
the most pleasant and luxurious circumstances still looks bravely and
patiently enduring. Her refinement threw a tinge of coarseness over his
eager consumption of his excellent clear soup.

"What's this fish, Bradley?" he asked.

"Turbot, Sir Richmond."

"Don't you have any?" he asked his wife.