Mr. Rendall (again drily): "If one happens to have ruminant tastes, I believe they are edible."
Miss Rendall (brightly, but evidently unkindly): "Mr. Merton was probably thinking chiefly of the ruminant natives."
Myself (keeping sternly to the point): "I was thinking chiefly of sheep." (With a direct and steady look at the laird.) "Are there many sheep on this island?"
Mr. Rendall (quite calmly): "A good many. Are you anxious for statistics?"
Myself (concealing my disappointment under a brave smile): "Oh no. Please don't mistake me for an intelligent enquirer."
I turned the brave smile on to Miss Rendall. She smiled back very slightly. In her face I seemed to read a trace of scepticism; as if she did not quite agree with my modest estimate of myself, but at the same time thought none the better of me. I would have given a good deal to know exactly what was in her mind. Did she suspect something? And if so, what?
I had one more shot. It was an inspiration which came to me at the end of lunch when my host offered me a cigar.
"Matches?" he observed, pushing a box towards me.
Again I looked at him hard and asked,
"Have you such a thing as a wax match?"