"I? To you?"
"Yes. You have satisfied my curiosity. I own that sometimes I have wanted to know what sort of voice will be singing after I am dead. And now I do know. Good-bye, and thank you."
He pressed his hand, turned abruptly and shuffled into the house. He was noticeably the worse for his walk, and Rickman felt that he had to answer for it to Miss Gurney.
"I'm afraid I've tired him. I hope I haven't done him harm."
Miss Gurney glanced sharply at him, turned, and disappeared through the study window. Her manner implied that if he had harmed Fielding she would make him feel it.
She came back still unsmiling. "No. You have not tired him."
"Then," said he as he followed her into the drawing-room, "I am forgiven?"
"Yes. But I did not say you had not done him harm."
The lady paused in her amenities to pour out his tea.
"Miss Gurney," he said as he took the cup from her, "can you tell me the name of the friend who sent my book to you?"