"Knocked the bobbie over . . . I didn't see that."
"He didn't want to catch the girls," Tietjens said, "you could see him—oh, yearning not to."
"I don't want to know anything about that," the General said. "I shall hear enough about it from Paul Sandbach. Give the bobbie a quid and let's hear no more of it. I'm a magistrate."
"Then what have I done?" Tietjens said. "I helped those girls to get off. You didn't want to catch them; Waterhouse didn't, the policeman didn't. No one did except the swine. Then what's the matter?"
"Damn it all!" the General said, "don't you remember that you're a young married man?"
With the respect for the General's superior age and achievements, Tietjens stopped himself laughing.
"If you're really serious, sir," he said, "I always remember it very carefully. I don't suppose you're suggesting that I've ever shown want of respect for Sylvia."
The General shook his head.
"I don't know," he said. "And damn it all I'm worried. I'm . . . Hang it, I'm your father's oldest friend." The General looked indeed worn and saddened in the light of the sand-drifted, ground glass windows. He said: "Was that skirt a . . . a friend of yours? Had you arranged it with her?"
Tietjens said: