Thompson grinned and returned to his plate.
"Why do you like the Chief, Tommy?" she demanded.
Thompson paused in his eating, resting his hands, still holding knife and fork, upon the edge of the table. The suddenness of the question had startled him.
"If you must sit like that, at least close your mouth," she said severely.
Thompson replaced his knife and fork upon the plate.
"Well, why do you?" she queried.
"Why do I what?" he asked.
She made a movement of impatience. "Like the Chief, of course." Then as he did not reply she continued: "Why does Tims like him, and the Innocent, and Sir James, and Sir John Dene, and the whole blessed lot of us? Why is it, Tommy, why?"
Thompson merely gaped, as if she had propounded some unanswerable riddle.
"Why is it?" she repeated. Then as he still remained silent she added, "There's no hurry, Tommy dear; just go on listening with your mouth. I quite realise the compliment."