They returned to their chairs in less than five minutes: one perturbed, the other calm.
“Well, of all the—” he spluttered. “What I mean to say is, what in the world is going to happen next, I wonder?”
“That’s more than either of us can tell,” remarked Miss Everitt composedly. “What I know is that I do want my lunch. Sight of food in the dining-car has made me feel hungry.”
“The two of them! The two of them sitting there at a small table opposite each other!”
“I caught sight through the glass door of the bill of fare,” said Miss Everitt. “The name of the fish I couldn’t quite make out, but there were côtes de boeuf rôtis, and poularde, and haricots verts—”
“They were sharing a bottle of Chablis together. And he—he’d placed his hand on the top of her hand. Did you notice?”
“Wonder whether they’ll give us an ice?”
Chiswell found a handkerchief and rubbed his forehead.
“All very well for you to sit there and talk about food; how do you know that now they’ve met and made it up, that she won’t get rid of you in the same way that he’s jolly well certain to manage without me?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, with calm. “I’ve saved!”