"Caspar's my name," the Managing Director answered, never lifting his eyes to his tormentor.
The young woman bent down roguishly, disregarding Ern's warning glances.
"Not to your own sister, Alfie," she answered, demure and intimate.
They were mostly Old Town folk on the char-a-banc, many from the Moot; and they all tittered, even the driver.
Alf stood back in the road and said deliberately, searching with his eye the top of the bus.
"Where is he, then?"
Ern flashed round on him.
"Who?"
Alf sneered.
"You!—You're only her husband!" and decamped swiftly.