‘I—I couldn’t hit it off.... I—of course I could see she was—very nice ... I could understand why you—were so fond of her....’ He floundered on, his eyes fixed on the road in front of him, his foot gradually forgetting to press the accelerator. ‘But you seemed—quite different when she was there ... at least you were different to me. It felt as if we were strangers.’
She sighed again, and said patiently:
‘I’m sorry, Martin.’
Impossible to try to explain to him. What he said was all so true. Let him think what he liked: she was not responsible to him for her behaviour, not obliged, as he seemed to think, to treat him with consideration. Dull, dull, tiresome Martin. No wonder he had roused a devil in Jennifer.
‘Oh!’ he said, overcome. ‘Good heavens, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I wasn’t meaning to accuse you.’
‘It sounded as if you were,’ she said in an aggrieved voice. It was an easy game, upsetting Martin.
‘Oh, Judy, you know I wasn’t,’ he said unhappily; and in his agitation he completely forgot to accelerate, and the car slowed down till she scarcely crawled.
‘Hey, sir!’ shouted Julian from the back. ‘May I ask what you are up to, sir? Does the road belong to you, sir, or does it not?’
Martin made a grimace over his shoulder and drove on.
‘All I meant,’ he said presently, very quietly, ‘was that I’d missed you awfully, and that I’m terribly glad I’ve—I’ve met you again.’