After glancing at her once or twice, he said reprovingly,-- 'Have you finished your Sunday book ?' 'Not quite.

But I don't care to read just now.' The silence that followed was broken by Monica herself.
'Have you accepted Mrs.Luke's invitation to dinner ?' she asked.
'I have declined it,' was the reply, carelessly given.
Monica bit her lip.
'But why ?' 'Surely we needn't discuss that over again, Monica.' His eyes were still on the book, and he stirred impatiently.
'But,' urged his wife, 'do you mean to break with her altogether?
If so, I think it's very unwise, Edmund.

What an opinion you must have of me, if you think I can't see people's faults! I know it's very true, all you say about her.

But she wishes to be kind to us, I'm sure--and I like to see something of a life so different from our own.' Widdowson drummed on the floor with his foot.

In a few moments, ignoring Monica's remarks, he stroked his beard, and asked, with a show of casual interest-- 'How was it you knew that Mr.Barfoot ?' 'I had met him before--when I went there on the Saturday.' Widdowson's eyes fell; his brow was wrinkled.
'He's often there, then ?' 'I don't know.