And then he walked across to where she was standing, and put his hand on her arm, "How about you?" he asked, "why shouldn't I take you and Timmy a little jaunt just for a week or so—that would be rather fun, eh?"
She smiled and shook her head.
He took a step back. "Look here, Janet—do try and forgive me—I'm a more sensible chap than I was, honest Injun!"
"I'm beginning to think you are," she cried, and then they both burst out laughing.
He lingered a moment. He was longing, longing intensely, to ask her certain questions. He wanted to know about Betty—what sort of a life Betty had made for herself. He still, in an odd way, felt responsible for Betty—which was clearly absurd.
And then Janet Tosswill said something that surprised him very much. "I think you'd better go round and see some of the people in the village to-day. I was rather sorry you went off straight to The Trellis House last evening. You know how folks talked, even in the old days, in Beechfield?"
He looked uneasy—taken aback, and she felt, if a little ashamed, glad that she had made that "fishing" remark.
There was a pause, and then he said with a touch of formality: "Look here, Janet? I'd like you to know that though I've become quite fond of Mrs. Crofton, I'm only fond—nothing more, you understand? Perhaps I'll make my meaning clearer when I tell you that I was the only man in Egypt who knew her who wasn't in love with her."
He saw her face change and, rather piqued, he asked: "Did you think I was?"
"I thought that you and she were great friends—"