"I'm sorry to say Mr. Ingpen's had an accident," said Edwin.
She stopped, both hands above her head fingering her hat.
"An accident? Nothing serious?"
"Oh no! I don't think so," he lied. "A machinery accident. They had to take him to the Clowes Hospital at Bursley. I've just come from there."
She asked one or two more questions, all the time hurrying her preparations to leave. But Edwin judged with disgust that she was not deeply interested in the accident. True, he had minimised it, but she ought not to have allowed him to minimise it. She ought to have obstinately believed that it was very grave.
"I do hope he'll soon be all right," she said, snatching at her gloves and going to the door. "Good night!" She gave another silly giggle, preposterous in a woman of her age. Then she stopped. "I think you're gentleman enough not to say anything about me being here," she said, rather nastily. "It was quite an accident. I could easily explain it, but you know what people are!"
What a phrase--"I think you're gentleman enough!"
He blushed and offered the required assurance.
"Can I let you out?" he started forward.
"No, thanks!"