He stopped short and looked at her.
Sarah smiled back.
“It has, with a vengeance,” she flashed. “Hasn’t it?”
Virgil wiped his hands and lifted his glass.
“Your very good health, Sarah. I’m sorry you can’t marry George. But I’ll do my best.”
He drank luxuriously.
Sarah lifted her grenadine.
“And yours, Virgil. I know your feelings exactly. As for poor June, words fail me. But, since it can’t be helped, I’ll do what I can.”
“We shall get through—dear,” said Pardoner stoutly. “And—and you’ve got a very sweet way.”
“That,” said Sarah, “is thanks to the grenadine. And now get on with that peach. Where shall we live?” she added artlessly. “Lincolnshire?”