The woman looked at him and continued panting. When her pulmonary contortions had somewhat subsided she said:
“I s’pose you ’aven’t seen a pale young man up the lane?”
It was difficult to know what made him do it, but Edwin lied. He said:
“No.”
“Oh!” she replied. “I don’t know where ’e’s got to. ’E’s not s’posed to go out of the garden. ’E’s been ill, you know.”
“Really!”
“’E’s my nefyer, but I can’t always keep an eye on ’im. ’E’s a bright one, ’e is. I shall ’ave ’im sent back to the ’ome.”
“Ah, poor fellow! I suppose he was—injured in the war?”
“War!” The plump lady snorted. She became almost aggressive and confidential. She came close up to Edwin and shook her finger backwards and forwards in front of his eyes.