"He's only to ask," snapped Miss Spraggs.
"Anyway, we shall see," said Devitt.
"Should that happen, I trust you will never wish me to invite her to the house," said Mrs Devitt, rising to her full height.
"It's all very sad," remarked Devitt gloomily.
"It is: that you should take her part in the way you do, Montague," retorted his wife.
"I'm sorry if you're upset," her husband replied. "But I knew Miss Keeves as a little girl, when she was always laughin' and happy. It's all very, very sad."
Mrs Devitt moved to a window, where she stood staring out at the foliage which, just now, was looking self-conscious in its new finery.
"Who heard from Harold last?" asked Devitt presently.
"I did," replied Miss Spraggs. "It was on Tuesday he wrote."
"How did he write?"