"So did I," said Daphne. "And you never even—— Oh, it's spoiled my tea."
Even Jill protested that I had "led them on."
In some dudgeon, I began to wonder if I should ever understand women.
* * * * *
An hour and a half had slipped by.
Ready for dinner with twenty minutes to spare, I had descended to the lounge. There a large writing-table had suggested the propriety of sending a postcard to the sweetest of aunts, who, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, invariably presumed our death after fourteen days.
There being no postcards available, I started a letter….
For a page and a half my pen ran easily enough, and then, for no reason whatever, my epistolary sense faltered, laboured, and ceased to function.
I re-read what I had written, touched up the punctuation, and fingered my chin. I reviewed the past, I contemplated the future, I regarded my finger-nails—all to no effect. There was simply nothing to say. Finally I rose and went in search of a waiter. There was, I felt, a chance that a Martini might stimulate my brain….
I returned to my seat to find that, while I had been gone, a heifer from another herd had come to drink at the pool.