"Indeed I didn't," she said, with plain relief. "I wrote directly I got here, and gave them to the waiter to post."
Another silence longer than the first was broken by the waiter, who came to announce that the gentleman's lunch was ready in the coffee-room. The other gentleman—red-necked—asked for his bill.
While the waiter was gone for it, Edward put a sovereign on the table. "For my sister's share," he said.
The red-necked gentleman protested.
"You know," she said, in a low voice, "I said I should pay my share."
The red-necked gentleman rose. "I will tell them," he said, "to make out your bill separately. And now, if I cannot be of any further service to you, I think I'll be getting on. Good day to you."
"Good day," said Edward, "and thank you for your kindness to my sister."
"Good-by," said she, "and thank you a thousand times." She held out her hand. He bowed over it and went away through the sunlit garden, resentment obvious in every line of his back.
Neither Edward nor the girl spoke. There was no sound in the arbor save the convulsive gulpings of Charles absorbing the sponge fingers which she absently offered him from among the scattered dessert.