He awaited the burst of reproach; the torrent of fury.
These did not come. About Bill's mouth, as from George to Mary he glanced, there were the lines of amusement; no menace lay in his clear blue eyes.
“Went to look for you at the hospital,” Bill replied. “Met that man Franklyn, and he told me you very probably were here.”
George pushed ahead with the banalities. “Surprised to see Miss Humfray here?” he asked. “You met her, of course, at my uncle's while—while”—this was dangerous ground, and he hurried over it—“while I was away,” he said quickly; blew his nose.
Bill told him: “Yes. Not a bit surprised.” The creases of amusement became more evident. He shook Mary's hand.
“Ah!” George said. “Um! Quite so. Sit down, Bill.”
They took seats. Constraint was upon these people; each sat upon the extreme edge of the chair selected.
After a pause, “You've been to Herons' Holt, then?” George remarked.
“Yesterday. Yesterday night.”
“Ah! Yesterday. Thursday, so to speak. Um! Margaret quite well?”