George knew she was in a temper all right, but it was so marvellous to hear her voice—even if it did sound snappy—that he didn’t care.
“This is George,” he said, aware that he had begun to tremble violently.
“Have you been ringing every day?” she harked at him.
“I’m afraid I have,” he returned in studiedly gentle tones, quite sick with fear that she was going to be unkind.
“Well, couldn’t you have been a hit brighter?” she demanded. “You’ve caused a lot of bother as it is.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” George said, “but I did want to speak to you.”
“What do you want?”
In that kind of temper it was quite likely she would refuse to go out with him. But it had to be now or never. Now he had at last caught her. He couldn’t just fawn and cringe and go away.
“I—I was wondering… if you haven’t anything to do tomorrow… I mean, would you like to come out with me?… that is, if you’re not busy or something.”
“What do you mean… or something?” The waspish note was still in her voice.