Freddie was taken aback. This was most unexpected.
"Practice makes perfect," he said glibly. "Don't you want me to carry 'em, Kitty?" He said it almost tearfully.
Katherine exulted inwardly. Outwardly she was very cool and very baffling. "Please don't call me Kitty. I hate it."
"It's a dear little name. That's what I'm going to call you when we are—well, you know."
"I don't know. What are you talking about?"
"Oh, come now, Miss Rodney. Don't be so icy. What's up? Never mind—don't tell me. I know. You're jealous of Connie." It was a bold stroke and it had an immediate effect.
"Jealous!" she scoffed, but her cheeks went red. "Not I, Freddie." She considered for a second and then went on: "She's not in love with you. You must be blind. She's crazy about Mr. Medcroft."
"By Jove," exclaimed Freddie, stopping short, his eyes bulging. He looked at her for a minute in silence, realisation sifting into his face. "You're right! She is in love with him. I see it now. Well, what do you think of that! Her brother-in-law!"
"And he is in love with her too. Now you may go back to her and see if you can't win her away from him. I shan't interfere, my dear Freddie. Don't have me on your conscience. Good-by."
She left him standing there in the street. With well-practised tact he darted into a tobacconist's shop.