He demurred. “Grotesque?”
“I mean—did I go on about it?”
Mr. Prodmore would have no general descriptions; he was specific, he was vivid. “You banged the desk. You raved. You shrieked.”
This was a note she appeared indulgently, almost tenderly, to recognise. “We do shriek at Missoura Top!”
“I don’t know what you do at Missoura Top, but I know what you did at Covering End!”
She warmed at last to his tone. “So do I then! I surprised you. You weren’t at all prepared——”
He took her briskly up. “No—and I’m not prepared yet!”
Mrs. Gracedew could quite see it. “Yes, you’re too astonished.”
“My astonishment’s my own affair,” he retorted—“not less so than my memory!”
“Oh, I yield to your memory,” said the charming woman, “and I confess my extravagance. But quite, you know, as extravagance.”