“I’m not cross.”
“Well, of course I can’t contradict you, but, like the parrot, I can still think a lot.”
“I shouldn’t if I were you. The unusual strain may hurt your brain.”
“Whew—as bad as all that, is it? No letter from Africa this mail, I suppose?”
Paddy preserved a contemptuous silence.
“Too bad,” said Basil.
“What’s too bad?” said Paddy. “Your last attempt at a joke?”
“The pater’s getting anxious.” he went on without heading her. “He’s sitting in there,” nodding toward the surgery, “strung up to an awful pitch of nervousness lest you should be blind with—er—well, we’ll call it annoyance, and poison someone by accident.”
“Go away,” said Paddy.
“I’ve nowhere to go.”