Cheriton’s smile expanded to the dimensions of his necktie.
“Yes,” said he, laughing, “this sort of thing is best left to those who are born with the instinct for diplomacy. Lascelles, my good fellow, you would have done far better to have pinned your faith to your companion in guilt. Her version was excellent, if a little bald. To my mind it was pitched in quite the right key. It was natural, lucid, admirably reticent. It clearly suggested that the blame could not belong to either of you, whoever else it might be fixed upon. Unfortunately, your own version does not tend to exonerate you equally. I must confess, Lascelles, that upon my mind it leaves a most unhappy impression.”
“The truth is,” said Jim, “I am seeking a fresh store of inspiration in order that I may complete the chef d’œuvre.”
“I think it should be a masterpiece undoubtedly.”
“I think so too,” said Jim.
Miss Perry’s far-seeing, west-country eyes appeared to be searching for something on the far horizon.
“Gobo is coming,” said she.
“Which way?” said Jim.
“He is coming up on the right. Don’t you see him?”
Jim had to strain his gaze.