She wandered restlessly about the room, looking at the photographs.
“What a lot of girls you seem to know, Freddie. Are these all the ones you’ve loved and lost?” She sat down at the piano and touched the keys. The clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half hour. “I wish to goodness they would arrive,” she said.
“They’ll be here pretty soon, I expect.”
“It’s rather awful,” said Jill, “to think of Lady Underhill racing all the way from Mentone to Paris and from Paris to Calais and from Calais to Dover and from Dover to London simply to inspect me. You can’t wonder I’m nervous, Freddie.”
The eye-glass dropped from Freddie’s eye.
“Are you nervous?” he asked, astonished.
“Of course I’m nervous. Wouldn’t you be in my place?”
“Well, I should never have thought it.”
“Why do you suppose I’ve been talking such a lot? Why do you imagine I snapped your poor, innocent head off just now? I’m terrified inside, terrified!”
“You don’t look it, by Jove!”