“That’s just what you are,” wailed Virginia. “And you take it out on mugs like Rosemary and me. I’m not a bit mad with her—I’m simply sorry. I imagine life with you must be p-purple hell—like mine is with D-D-Derry. You spend your rotten time playing us up, an’ then when you’ve played us up you let us down.”
Captain Chase felt inclined to scream.
Instead—
“Gently, old lady,” he said. “Easy with the weaker vessel. I know it looks bad, but—well, girls like you an’ Rosemary, you don’t realize your power. Poor devils like Derry an’ me—we haven’t a ghost. An’ as if your natural beauty wasn’t enough you actually fuss yourselves up to—to make us think. It’s like goin’ out after sheep with a smoke-screen and a couple of tanks.”
“It’s a wicked lie,” shrieked Virginia. “How dare you say such a thing? You’re not like sheep. You’re wolves. And we don’t go after you. You come and pester us till we’re nearly out of our minds, and when for the sake of peace we try to be nice, you take what you want and then you turn us down.”
Roger took out a handkerchief and wiped his face.
From the opposite corner of the limousine Virginia continued to dispense indignation in the shape of spasmodic inspirations which shook the seat.
The man who can withstand that particular form of emotion has yet to be sired.
After the tenth appeal, which was more of an ultimatum and fairly rattled round the car, Roger returned to the assault.
“Jenny, my dear, have a heart. For God’s sake don’t cry like this. I swear I never meant any harm. You know I didn’t. And—and we’ll get back on them somehow. I’ve got an idea already—it only wants working out.”