"He's getting jolly tired, you know."
At this Agatha flushed and looked at him. There was indignation in her glance.
"You don't know," said she. "You know nothing at all about it. And he is not getting tired. You shouldn't talk about things of which you know nothing—absolutely nothing."
"Of course you ought to know more about it than I do. I accept the back seat. I am not your other self—that's how he puts it, isn't it? But for all that"—with a stealing glance to the rear —"it seems to me that he is growing impatient."
"Oh, Dicky, I think you shouldn't say such things as that." Tears rose to her eyes.
"What else can I say?"
"To hint that he is impatient—-"
"So he is."
"That sounds as if he were discontented."
"So he is."