“I caught a nasty chill at the Owens’ dance, and I’ve only just thrown it off. My dear, such a bore! There are nothing but draughts in that house, you know how it is. I think they might let one have one window shut, don’t you? Emily, it is nice to see you, I haven’t come across you for a week.”
“To tell you the truth, Mabel, I haven’t been about much this week. With the village and one thing and another I haven’t had a moment. I wanted to have a talk . . .”
The door opened. John came in.
“Who is it?”
“Mabel, John.”
“How are you, John?”
“Oh, is it you? I’m all right, thanks. How are things with you?”
“Well, you know how it is dear boy, one irritating thing after another. Only this afternoon on the way here the inside of the car went wrong, so tiresome. We waited for hours while Jenkins tried to find out what was the matter. And while we were there guess who should come by at the most appalling speed, my dear, so that it was not safe for anyone.” Pause. “The young Vincent boy on his motor bike.”
“Was he going fast?”
“My dear boy, he shot by. I have never in all my life seen anything like it, you know.”