"Must have gone straight home and got it off his chest," said Jonah. "I expect he's awfully proud of that letter, if the truth were known."
"Well, don't let's dwell on it," said Berry, regarding the oysters which had been set before him. "After dinner will do. You hardly ever go down with typhoid within six hours." He turned to Adèle. "Bet you I've got more strepsicocci than you have," he added pleasantly.
"Shut up," said Daphne. "Adèle dear, d'you like oysters? Because, don't you eat them if you don't."
"No, don't," said Berry. "If you don't, whatever you do, don't. And whatever you don't, I will."
Adèle looked at him with a mischievous smile.
"I couldn't bear," she said, "to have your blood on my head."
Then she glanced gratefully at Daphne and picked up a fork.
Mr. Herbert Bason had arisen out of the cloud of War. The time had produced the man. The storm had burst just in the nick of time to save the drooping theatrical interests which he controlled, and the fruit which these had borne steadily for the best part of five long years had been truly phenomenal. A patriot to the backbone, the bewildered proprietor obtained absolute exemption from the Tribunal, turned the first six rows of all his pits into stalls, and bought War Loan with both hands. It was after the second air-raid upon London that he decided to take a house in the country.... Less than a year ago he had disposed of his music-halls and had settled near Bilberry for good.
"By the way," said Daphne, "did I tell you? The laundry's struck."
"Thank you," said her husband, "for that phrase."