“Since you dropped me?”
“Mutual consent,” he argued, rather uneasily, “mutual consent.” Both looked out of the window for a time. “By the by, do you ever see anything of that chap Miller? You don’t remember him perhaps; he was in Grosvenor Gardens when last I heard of him.”
“I believe he’s there still,” she answered, examining the tips of her boots.
“When did you—”
“Oh, don’t bother me!” cried Miss Everitt sharply. “You’re always wanting to know everything about everybody. A nuisance, that’s what you are.”
“I’ve got no grievance against Miller,” contended Chiswell. “You’re doing me an injustice. Me and Miller are good friends enough. Last time I met him he gave me some information, and we parted on what I may call the most amicable terms. I shouldn’t at all mind,” he went on generously, “I shouldn’t object in the least to running across poor Miller again.”
“You needn’t call him ‘poor.’”
“I’m not using the term,” said Mr. Chiswell, “in a monetary sense.”
“The monetary sense, as you call it, is about the only one you possess.”
Noting that she tapped the side of her easy-chair and that her head trembled, he decided to say nothing more on the subject, reverting instead to the matter already discussed. In going over some of the circumstances he found excuse for increased content; the swiftness of his action, and the general dexterity he had displayed made his eyes grow round and bulgy. The dining-car attendant came through to announce that the first series for lunch was ready, and Chiswell said he would smoke one cigarette and then go along and see whether his services were required by Freddy. Miss Everitt rose, remarking that it would be well, perhaps, for her to ascertain, at once, whether she could be of any use to Emily.