"Mr. Moore doesn't know."
"He can ask his interpreter, can't he?"
"Andrea? He won't tell."
Jeffrey released his knees and lay back against the bench. He gave a hoot of delighted laughter, and Lydia, watching them from the window, thought of Miss Amabel with a wistful envy and wondered how she did it.
"Weedie's own henchman won't go back on her," he exclaimed, in an incredulous pleasure. "Now what spell has that extraordinary old woman over the south of Europe?"
"South of Europe?"
"Why, yes, the population you've got here. It's south of Europe chiefly, isn't it? eastern Europe?—the part Weedie hasn't turned into ward politicians yet. Who is Andrea? This is the first time I have heard his honourable name. Weedon's interpreter."
"He has the fruit store on Mill Street."
"Ah! Amabel, do you know what this interview has done for me? It's given me a perfectly overwhelming desire to speak the tongues."
"Foreign languages, Jeff?"