"You usually are, aren't you?"
She looked up with surprised amusement. Resentment had made him bold. This was the first spark of spirit she had shaken out of him and she had made him the victim of many moods.
"But I don't blame you for thinking about the most interesting person you know. I think about you a lot myself. You're really rippin', you know."
Joyce groaned in spirit. He did that sort of thing as gracefully as a bear danced. To create a diversion she whipped back her line for a cast so that the flies snapped close to his ear.
"I say, be a bit careful," Verinder suggested.
"Oh, did I hook you?" she asked carelessly.
"I've been on your line for weeks."
"You'd better whisper it. Moya might hear," she advised roguishly.
Verinder flushed. The transfer of his attentions was still a sore subject with him. He hoped it would be generally understood that he had given up Miss Dwight of his own choice. He did not want it to get out that he had been jilted.
"The whole world is welcome to hear it. I'd advertise it in the Times if it would do any good."