“Help the jellies dearest” shouted Mr. Orly in a frowning whisper. “Have some jelly, Miss Hens’. It’s all right Ley ... glad you so busy, my son. How many did you have this morning?” Mopping his brow and whisking his person with his serviette he glanced sidelong.
“Two” said Mr. Leyton, noisily spooning up jelly, “any more of that stuff mater, how about Hancock?”
“There’s plenty here” said Mrs. Orly helping him. Miriam laboured with her jelly and glanced at the dish. People wolfed their food. It would seem so conspicuous to begin again when the fuss had died down; with Mr. Orly watching as if feeding were a contemptible self-indulgence.
“Had a beastly gold case half the morning” rapped Mr. Leyton and drank, with a gulp.
“Get any help?” said Mr. Orly glancing at Miriam.
“No” said Mr. Leyton in a non-committal tone, reaching across the table for the cheese.
“Hancock too busy?” asked Mr. Orly. “Have some more jelly, Miss Hens’n.”
“No thank you” said Miriam.
“A bit of cheese; a fragment of giddy Gorgonzola.”
“No thanks.”