“Sure your washrah?”
“I put it right yesterday.”
At this moment there came faintly from afar a sweet, musical chiming.
“There’s the college clock striking the quarter,” said Kay.
Mr. Wrenn’s fever subsided. If it was only a quarter-past he was on velvet. He could linger and chat for a while. He could absolutely dally. He pushed back his chair and lighted a cigarette with the air of a leisured man.
“Kay, my dear,” he said, “I’ve been thinking—about this young fellow Shotter.”
Kay jumped. By an odd coincidence, she had herself been thinking of Sam at that moment. It annoyed her to think of Sam, but she constantly found herself doing it.
“I really think we ought to invite him to dinner one night.”
“No!”
“But he seems so anxious to be friendly. Only yesterday he asked me if he could drop round some time and borrow the garden roller. He said he understood that that was always the first move in the suburbs toward establishing good neighbourly relations.”