“Oh, Tommy——”
“D’you mind, Thyrza?”
“I?—Lord, no, dear.”
He was still holding her hand across the counter, and now he slowly pulled her towards him. Her darling face was coming closer to him out of the shadows; he could smell her hair....
Buzz—Ting.
Their hands dropped and they started upright, both looking utterly foolish. The Reverend Henry Poullett-Smith sniffed an air of constraint as he entered.
“Good evening, Mrs. Honey. I came to leave this—er—notice about the Empire Day performance at the schools. Perhaps you’ll be so kind as to show it in the window, and—er—come yourself.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll put it here by the tinned salmon. That’s what gets looked at most.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Honey. Hullo, Beatup—I didn’t see you in this dim light.”
“I’ll be gitting the lamp,” said Thyrza.