“Never mind! What was it you wanted to ask me?”
“Well, it’s something that’s rather important, but of course maybe you won’t think so, Muriel. Anyway, though, I hope you’ll think it’s sort of important.”
“But what is it? Don’t hang fire so, Renfrew!”
“I just wanted to lead up to it a little,” he explained mildly. “I’ve been thinking about getting a new car, and I wondered what sort you think I’d better look at. I didn’t want to get one you wouldn’t like.”
Her lips parted to project that little series of sibilances commonly employed by adults to make children conscious of error. “Why on earth should you ask me?” she said sharply. “Is that your idea of an important question?”
Renfrew’s susceptible complexion showed an increase of colour, but he was growing more and more accustomed to be used as a doormat, and he responded, without rancour: “I meant I hoped you’d sort of think it important, my not wanting to get one you wouldn’t like.”
“Now, what do you mean by that?”
“Well,” he said, “I mean I hoped you’d think it was important, my thinking it was important to ask you.”
“I don’t,” she returned as a complete answer.
“You say——”