“Poor old Derek!” she echoed. “He has been badly treated, hasn’t he?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” said Freddie doubtfully. “You see, coming down to it, the thing was more or less his fault, what?”
“More or less!”
“I mean to say …”
“More or less!”
Freddie glanced at her anxiously. He was not at all sure now that he liked the way she was looking or the tone in which she spoke. He was not a keenly observant young man, but there did begin at this point to seep through to his brain-centers a suspicion that all was not well.
“Let me pull myself together!” said Freddie warily to his immortal soul. “I believe I’m getting the raspberry!” And there was silence for a space.
The complexity of life began to weigh upon Freddie. Life was like one of those shots at squash which seem so simple till you go to knock the cover off the ball, when the ball sort of edges away from you and you miss it. Life, Freddie began to perceive, was apt to have a nasty back-spin on it. He had never had any doubt when he had started, that the only difficult part of his expedition to America would be the finding of Jill. Once found, he had presumed that she would be delighted to hear his good news and would joyfully accompany him home on the next boat. It appeared now, however, that he had been too sanguine. Optimist as he was, he had to admit that, as far as could be ascertained with the naked eye, the jolly old binge might be said to have sprung a leak.
He proceeded to approach the matter from another angle.
“I say!”