But Teresa felt the presence of the angel Intimacy—a presence which, when it comes between a man and a woman, shuffles the dreams and, so it seems, causes the future to stir in its sleep.
“I say! Isn’t this extraordinary? We _are_ getting on well, aren’t we? One doesn’t often talk to a person about these sort of things the first time one meets them,” and Rory gave a light, mocking laugh.
Teresa felt absurdly, exaggeratedly disappointed; and why did he use such a strongly scented hair-wash?
The second game of Snooker came to an end, David, this time, potting the black.
“Well, Munroe, what about a ‘wee doch-an-doris’?” said Dick, opening the tantalus.
Concha stretched her soft, supple mouth in an enormous yawn, rubbed her head on Dick’s shoulder, and said, “Dad always talks to the Irish in a brogue and to the Scotch like Harry Lauder—it’s _his_ joke.”
“And theirs, I suppose, is to answer in English,” said Rory, getting up from the sofa and merging at once into the atmosphere of the Snookerites.
Teresa wondered if it were consciously that Concha was always more affectionate to their father when she had strange men for an audience. Then, seeing in Guy’s eye that he wanted to continue his idiotic talk about Oscar Wilde and brilliance, she slipped away to bed.
The next morning Teresa dressed very carefully; she put on a lilac knitted gown, cut square and low at the neck, and a long necklace of jade.
She got down to breakfast to find Arnold, Jollypot, Rory, and Guy already settled.
Rory looked at her with unseeing eyes, and got her her tea and boiled egg with obviously perfunctory politeness.
He was clearly eager to get back to the conversation with Guy which she had interrupted by her arrival and needs.
“But you know, Guy, the only _amusing_ relation we had was old Lionel Fane—he was a _priceless_ old boy ... what was it he used to say again when he was introduced to a lady?”
“‘How d’ye do, how d’ye do, oh beautiful passionate body that never has ached with a heart!’ And then, do you remember how he used to turn down his sock and scratch his ankle, and then look round with a grin and say, ‘I don’t mean to be provocative.’ ...”
“For God’s sake stop talking about your beastly relations,” growled Arnold; but Guy went on, undaunted.