"To examine our evidence. You were very glad to see me—now weren't you?"
"I'm always pleased," remarked Alwynne sedately to the tulips, "to see old friends."
"Yes—but we're not old friends exactly, if you refer to length of acquaintanceship. If to age—I was thirty last March. I'm not doddering yet."
"I wasn't speaking of ages. Thirty is perfectly young. Clare's thirty-five. You do fish, Roger."
"Yes. I'm going to have a haul some day soon, I hope. But to resume. Firstly, you were jolly glad to see me. Secondly, you took your lecture very fairly meekly—for you! and you've already had one talking-to to-day during which, I gather, you were anything but meek."
"I never told you——"
"But there was a glint in your eye——You've no idea how invariably your face gives you away, Alwynne. Thirdly, you've hinted quite half-a-dozen times that Miss Hartill would be all the better for a few of my virtues. Tenth, and finally, you've made my coat collar thoroughly damp—you needn't try to move—and I don't exactly see you spoiling your Clare's Sunday blouse that way, often, eh?"
Alwynne was obliged to agree with the tulips.
"I thought so. Therefore I say, after considering all the evidence—in your heart of hearts you are ten times fonder of me than of Miss Clare Hartill."
The trap was attractively baited. Impossible for an Alwynne to resist analysis of her own emotions. She walked into it.