“I suppose you wanted to,” she said.
“As a friend,” he persisted.
“Oh, all right,” she agreed with him lazily. “Have it your own way. I’m too sleepy to argue.”
“Then we are friends?” Michael asked gravely.
“Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. A couple of old talk-you-deads joring over a clothes-line. Get on with it, Roy—or what’s your name? Michael, eh? That’s right.”
“Good! Now, supposing I ask your advice, will you give it to me?”
“Advice is very cheap,” said Daisy.
“I used to know a girl,” Michael began.
“A straight-cut?”
“Oh, yes. Certainly. Oh, rather. At least in those days she was.”