"I thought you were his friend?"
"I may be excused if I consider the lady a little too."
"I suppose I don't care for Cecily? Do you mean that, Mr Neeld?"
"My dear friend, need we quarrel too?"
"Don't be stupid. Who's quarrelling? I never knew anybody so useless as you are. Can't you do anything but sit there and talk about responsibilities?" She was ranging about, a diminutive tiger of unusually active habits. She had wandered round the room again before she burst out:
"Oh, but it's something to see the end of it!"
That was his feeling too, however much he might rebuke himself for it. Human life at first-hand had not been too plentiful with him. The Imp's excitement infected him. "And he's back here after all!" she cried. "At least—Heavens, they'll be here directly, Mr Neeld!"
"Yes, it's past seven," said he.
"Come into the garden. We'll wait for them on the bridge." She turned to him as they passed through the hall. "Wouldn't you like something of this sort to happen to you?" she asked.
No. He was perturbed enough as a spectator; he would not have been himself engaged in the play.