But she hesitated. “I’m not sure I ought ...”
“Why not?”
“It’s none of my affair—”
“But surely you must see ... Listen: I’ll tell you about it.” He narrated succinctly the intrusion of the mysterious bandbox into his ken, that morning. “Now, a note was promised; it must have miscarried. Surely, there can be no harm in your telling me. Besides, I’ve a right to know.”
“Possibly ... but I’m not sure I’ve a right to tell. Why should I be a spoil-sport?”
“You mean,” he said thoughtfully—“you think it’s some sort of a practical joke?”
“What do you think?”
“Hmm-mm,” said Staff. And then, “I don’t like to be made fun of,” he asserted, a trace sulkily.
“You are certainly a dangerously original man,” said Miss Searle—“almost abnormal.”
“The most unkindest slam of all,” he murmured.