‘But I haven’t had time yet to tell him——’
‘That he’s been a fool?’ interrupted Mr. Thorpe.
‘Come in here,’ said Mrs. Luke, taking him by the arm and pressing him into the parlour, the door of which she shut.
‘Brought you this,’ said Mr. Thorpe, holding up a fish-basket, a big one, in front of her face. ‘Salmon. Prime cut. Thought it would be a bit of something worth eating for your—well, you don’t have dinner, do you—meal, then, to-night. Came back early from the City on purpose to get it here soon enough.’
‘How kind, how kind,’ murmured Mrs. Luke distractedly.
‘Plenty of it, too,’ said Mr. Thorpe, slapping the basket.
‘Too much, too much,’ murmured Mrs. Luke, not quite sure whether it were the salmon she was talking about.
‘Too much? Not a bit of it,’ said Mr. Thorpe. ‘I hate skimp.’
And he was going to put down his present on the nearest chair and then, she knew, fold her in one of those strong hugs that scrunched, when she bent forward and hastily took the basket from him. She couldn’t, she simply couldn’t, on this occasion be folded—not with Jocelyn sitting out there, all unsuspecting, under the cedar.
‘Never mind the basket,’ said Mr. Thorpe, who felt he had deserved well of Margery in this matter of the fish.