Pip departed as bidden; but somehow he was not conscious of the glow of heroic devotion that usually actuated him when obeying Madeline Carr's behests. He had a feeling that she might have said "Please!" and a further feeling that "other people"—no further specification—would have done so at once.
At this point in his reflections he arrived at the croquet-lawn with the strawberries, and was promptly commanded to put them down and stand by for further orders. This treatment, customary though it was, annoyed him; and, feeling unusually independent and assertive, he drifted behind a rhododendron bush, where he encountered his crony, Mr. Richard Blane, the son of the house, who was enjoying a quiet cigarette during a brief lull in the arduous labour of dispensing hospitality.
"Hallo, Pip!"
"Hallo!"
"Cigarette?"
"Thanks."
The two smoked silently for a moment, sitting side by side on the garden-roller.
"I say," inquired Mr. Blane, "who is that flapper you brought with you? All right—eh?"
"Name of Innes," replied Pip shortly. "Scotch—pal of Pipette's."
"Seems to be a pal of Cayley's, too," said Blane. "They were having a quiet ice in the shrubbery just now. Very thick, they looked."