Maule admired her composure.
'BON SANG NE PEUT MENTIR,' he thought to himself, and wished they had been talking in French.
'You look as grim as the statue of the Commander,' said Lady Bridget.
'What is the matter ?' 'Lady Bridget and I have been exchanging unconventional reminiscences,' put it Maule with forced lightness.
McKeith took no notice of either remark, but strode across the room to the roll-top escritoire, where he usually wrote his letters when in his wife's company.

He extracted a bundle of papers from one of the pigeon holes.
'This is what I came for.

Sorry to have interrupted your reminiscences,' and he went out again, passing along the back veranda.
Maule had got up and was standing at the fireplace.

Lady Bridget rose too.
'I'm going to bed.

We keep early hours in the Bush.' 'What! Already!' he exclaimed in dismay.
'I was up at six this morning.