"And I suppose Miss Howel-Jones will make it her excuse for turrrning up late on Monday morrrrning.... Whatt? She won't be coming Monday? How's that?... Leave?"
His voice jumped up three notes.
"Going on leave?... Where's she going? Wales?... What part of Wales?... I said what part of Wales.... Aber-which?... Ah.... 'Night."
The finest judge of women snapped up the receiver and sat for a moment motionless: only the shapely feminine mouth under the hogged moustache moving to the form of inaudible words.
Then he sprung up and grabbed a paper-covered book from a shelf of reference books. He stood holding it.
Ellerton and she!
Held up for two mortal hours in the dark!
And the cub sounded in racing spirits....
Proposed to her! Not a doubt of it! And would he sound like that if he hadn't been acc——?
Here he slammed the book down on the table (it was an A B C), and, with his one hand, began violently fluttering the pages. Aber——Aber——