III
ST. PETER awoke the next morning with the wish that he could be transported on his mattress from the new house to the old. But it was Sunday, and on that day his wife always breakfasted with him. There was no way out; they would meet at compt.
When he reached the dining-room Lillian was already at the table, behind the percolator. “Good morning, Godfrey. I hope you had a good night.” Her tone just faintly implied that he hadn’t de¬ served one.
“Excellent. And you?”
“I had a good conscience.” She smiled ruefully at him. “How can you let yourself be ungracious in your own house?”
“Oh, dear! And I went to sleep happy in the belief that I hadn’t said anything amiss the whole evening.”
“Nor anything aright, that I heard. Your disapproving silence can kill the life of any company.”
“It didn’t seem to, last night. You’re entirely wrong about Marsellus. He doesn’t notice.”
“He’s too polite to take notice, but he feels it.
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