"All that is very interesting," said Marjolaine, "but it is n't a question," and once more she tried to get by.
Jack felt rather injured. She might have shown a little more interest in the autobiography he had just favoured her with. "I thought it was polite to tell you who I was. As for the question: it 's uncommon hot, and when I saw this terrace I said there 'd be sure to be one here. Is there?"
"What?" cried Marjolaine, this time really stamping her foot.
"An inn?"
"Certainly not."
"Can't you tell me where there is one?"
"I do not frequent them," answered she, freezingly.
"No?" said Jack, crestfallen. "Sorry. I am dry. You see, I 've rowed all the way from Richmond. Five miles."
Marjolaine had manoeuvred safely inside her own gate. She felt she could afford a parting shot at him. "I 'm afraid you 'll have to row all the way back again. Good afternoon." By this time her hand grasped the handle of the door.
Jack addressed the world in general. "Curious, how different everything is."