“Yes, of course. Er—no, not at all.”
Silence.
“It does make the roads so bad round here when it rains.”
“Yes.” Mr. Morgan put up a hand as though to loosen his collar. “Er—very bad.”
“Almost impassable.”
“Er—quite.”
Silence again.
Inside the drawing-room, Mr. Brown was growing restive.
“Is dinner to be kept waiting for that youth all night? Quarter past seven! You know it’s just what I can’t stand—having my meals interfered with. Is my digestion to be ruined simply because this young nincompoop chooses to pay his social calls at seven o’clock at night?”
“Then we must ask him to dinner,” said Mrs. Brown, desperately. “We really must.”