“Blug,” said John Willie calmly.
His father raised his eyebrows. “The deuce you do. How d’you know there’s blood there?”
“Cook told Nannie,” said the child. “She said ve scuppers must have been full wiv it. What’s scuppers?”
“Eat your porridge,” retorted his father. “Once upon a time there was a little boy who played with his breakfast——”
“I’ll speak to cook,” said the mother in a low voice.
“An’ cook said——”
“Never mind what cook said. Just you listen to my story. The little boy’s mummie took him to see the White Queen—know what she said?”
“Off wiv——”
A shadow darkened the sunlight and the head and shoulders of the post-girl passed the open window.
“Hi! Here you are, Janet!” shouted the Commander. He leaned back in his chair, thrusting a long arm out of the window, and took the orange-hued envelope from the girl’s hand. Slowly and deliberately he selected a knife and slit the envelope; there was silence in the little room, and the clock on the mantelpiece punctuated it with even, unhurried ticks. “No answer,” he called over his shoulder, refolded the message and put it in his pocket; then he held out his cup to be replenished.