“Not a bit.”
“You’d better not.”
“Quite.”
It seemed to me that the conversation was becoming difficult again. I wished it could be terminated. And so it was. For at this moment something came shimmering through the laurels in the quiet evenfall, and I perceived that it was Angela.
She was looking sweet and saintlike, and she had a plate of sandwiches in her hand. Ham, I was to discover later.
“If you see Mr. Glossop anywhere, Bertie,” she said, her eyes resting dreamily on Tuppy’s facade, “I wish you would give him these. I’m so afraid he may be hungry, poor fellow. It’s nearly ten o’clock, and he hasn’t eaten a morsel since dinner. I’ll just leave them on this bench.”
She pushed off, and it seemed to me that I might as well go with her. Nothing to keep me here, I mean. We moved towards the house, and presently from behind us there sounded in the night the splintering crash of a well-kicked plate of ham sandwiches, accompanied by the muffled oaths of a strong man in his wrath.
“How still and peaceful everything is,” said Angela.