"Years since I've had a punt-pole in my hand!" he exclaimed. "Is it in working order, George? Come along——"
"You go, Julia," I said; and I returned into the house to see about lunch.
What had happened? Had he really brought her out for the day on his own account, as formerly he had used to do? Or was she allowing him to think that he had? Was he repeating himself even textually, in those words "Down tools, Julia, no work to-day"? I must know. It was essential that I should know. Yet already something in his manner told me that I should not learn it from him. He was here not to talk about himself, but to enjoy, keenly and vividly, every moment of his day. Whatever my own megrims had been, he showed none. Not he, but Julia, would have to explain matters.
Suddenly I took a resolution. I pushed at a baize door.
"Mrs Moxon!" I called.
My housekeeper appeared.
"Would it be upsetting your arrangements if I asked my visitors to stay for the week-end?" I asked.
She considered a moment; then she thought it could be managed. But she seemed puzzled.
"It is Mr Rose, isn't it?" she said.
Derry, I may say, had been to my house twice or thrice before.