“Don’t be soppy. You aren’t in the lovers’ lane now. Meanwhile, I think it would be a good thing if you overcame your natural bonhomie, and had a talk with Mr. Simmonds to-morrow. The more necessary, since you only seem to have brought three hankies here, and it’s you for the haberdasher’s in any case.”
“All right; but you mustn’t come. You cramp my style in shops. Too much of the I-want-a-handkerchief-for-this-young-gentleman business about you.”
“Then I shall console myself by talking to the barmaid, and finding out if she’s capable of saying anything except ‘Raight-ho.’ Of course I knew she had a young man all the time.”
“Rot! How could you tell?”
“My dear Miles, no girl ever waits so badly as that, or tosses her head like that, unless she’s meaning to chuck up her job almost immediately. I deduced a young man.”
“I wonder you haven’t wormed yourself into her confidence already.”
“Wasn’t interested in her. But to-night, at supper, she was jumpy—even you must have noticed it. She almost dropped the soup-plates, and the ‘shape’ was quivering like a guilty thing surprised.”
“That was your dressing for dinner.”
“Bunkum! You must have seen that she was all on edge. Anyhow, we’re going to have a heart-to-heart talk.”
“All right. Don’t bully the wretched girl, though.”