He took the receiver from him, and then the Twites—Mrs. Twite from the foot of the kitchen stairs and Twite lingering in the background because he hadn't yet been waved away—heard the following:
'Yes yes. Yes, speaking. Hullo. Who is it?'
'What? I can't hear. What?'
'Miss who? En—oh, good-morning, How distant your voice sounds.'
'What? Where? Where?'
'Oh really.'
Here the person at the other end talked a great deal.
'Yes. Quite. But then you see she wasn't.'
More prolonged talk from the other end.
'What? She isn't coming up? Indeed she is. She's expected. I've ordered——'