"Yes, I thought somehow you wouldn't be wanting me any longer," said Hemingway. "Intuition, they call it. I'll be saying good morning to you, sir. I dare say we'll meet again sometime or another."
Hugh nodded to him, and turned back to Vicky. "Come on, explain this act! What are you supposed to be doing?"
"I'm buying a saddle of mutton. And talking of mutton '
"Yes, you can cut that bit. I know it. I remind you of a sheep. Your chauffeur seems to me to be buying the mutton. Did you swank into the village in that car just to play at being a wealthy widow?"
"Or a notorious woman," said Vicky.
"Well, did you?"
"No," said Vicky softly. "I'm being driven to Fritton to pick up my car, not that it has anything to do with you, and I wasn't anybody but me until I suddenly caught sight of you looking like a lawyer, or something that's been stuffed, and then I thought I might just as well as not put on the sort of act you'd be bound to disapprove of."
Hugh stood looking down at her, torn between a desire to laugh, and to box her ears. Finally, he laughed. "Vicky, you abominable brat! Tell your chauffeur to finish the shopping, and go home. I'll run you into Fritton."
"How lovely of you!" said Vicky, with wholly deceptive effusiveness. "I expect if I had to choose between that and walking, I'd go with you."
"Ha! a snub!" said Hugh.