“Yes?” said Mrs Peagrim.
“Have you never felt,” babbled Uncle Chris, “that, feeling as I feel, I might have felt … that is to say, might be feeling a feeling … ?”
There was a tap at the door of the box. Uncle Chris started violently. Jill came in.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said. “I wanted to speak …”
“You wanted to speak to me?” said Uncle Chris, bounding up. “Certainly, certainly, certainly, of course. If you will excuse me for a moment?”
Mrs Peagrim bowed coldly. The interruption had annoyed her. She had no notion who Jill was, and she resented the intrusion at this particular juncture intensely. Not so Uncle Chris, who skipped out into the passage like a young lamb.
“Am I in time?” asked Jill in a whisper.
“In time?”
“You know what I mean. Uncle Chris, listen to me! You are not to propose to that awful woman. Do you understand?”
Uncle Chris shook his head.