"I have made arrangements," he said a little stiffly, "to lunch at the inn."
"Oh, that'll be all right," said Mrs. Eames, "I'll explain to James Hinton. As a matter of fact, he'll quite expect you to lunch at the vicarage. Everybody who comes to the village does. Not that anyone ever does come. At least, very seldom. But if anybody did—and, after all, you have—he would lunch at the vicarage. James Hinton knows that quite well."
James Hinton did. Sir Evelyn remembered that.
Further refusal became impossible when Mrs. Eames hooked her arm through his and began to tow him across the stony beach.
"There's only cold lamb," she said. "But as soon as we get home I'll dart into the kitchen and make some pancakes. I'm sure you like pancakes. Don't you like pancakes?"
"Oh, quite," said Sir Evelyn.
"And scrambled eggs. Scrambled eggs don't take a minute. After photographing the cave you're sure to be hungry. I know I am. Gladys can run down to the inn for a jug of beer."
"Gladys!"
"Gladys," said Mrs. Eames, "is our cook, which she can't, not even scrambled eggs; and housemaid, which she won't, though she could if she liked. But she can and will go down to James Hinton's for a jug of beer when I tell her to."