“Very well, thank you, dear. And you?”
George did not meet her eyes.
“So-so,” he said. “I took rather a nasty knock over the 'City' last week.”
“Is that a race?” asked Mrs. Pendyce.
And by some secret process she knew that he had hurried out that piece of bad news to divert her attention from another subject, for George had never been a “crybaby.”
She sat down on the edge of the sofa, and though the gong was about to sound, incited him to dawdle and stay with her.
“And have you any other news, dear? It seems such an age since we've seen you. I think I've told you all our budget in my letters. You know there's going to be another event at the Rectory?”
“Another? I passed Barter on the way up. I thought he looked a bit blue.”
A look of pain shot into Mrs. Pendyce's eyes.
“Oh, I'm afraid that couldn't have been the reason, dear.” And she stopped, but to still her own fears hurried on again. “If I'd known you'd been coming, I'd have kept Cecil Tharp. Vic has had such dear little puppies. Would you like one? They've all got that nice black smudge round the eye.”