Betty spat out, ‘You don’t mean to say you didn’t know her already?’

‘No,’ he said limply, shifting his eyes to her flushed, angry face. She had gone a dull brick red, so that for once the texture of her skin was in harmony with its colour.

‘I can’t believe it. What did you do with your spare time when you were at the University?’

‘I played indoor games,’ he muttered idiotically.

‘Well, there must have been one you didn’t play, or you’d have played it with her. They all did.’

Hutchins stirred restlessly. June Veeber said, frosting the air, ‘I came here on business.’

‘I never knew you go anywhere for anything else,’ said Betty. ‘You’ve been on overtime ever since I knew you.’

‘I shall have to ask you to be more courteous,’ George Hutchins said to her. His tone implied that it was a good thing June Veeber had a man to look after her. Charles nearly laughed out loud.

‘And I shall have to ask you to take a running jump at yourself,’ Betty told him. ‘If you’ve come on business, why don’t you spill it and go back to the cage?’

‘Perhaps I’d better leave a note,’ said June Veeber distinctly. ‘I hardly feel you could be trusted to hand a message on.’

‘Not if it’s your usual kind of message. I don’t know enough dirty words.’

Charles stood up. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’m getting tired of this. I can’t offer you a cup of tea or anything, Miss Veeber, because this isn’t my home. I’m only the lodger. But if you’ll give me your message for Edwin Froulish I’ll see he gets it. And stop looking at me like that,’ he nearly added.

‘I’ve come on behalf of the Stotwell Literary Society,’ she said.

‘Of which she is President,’ put in Hutchins portentously, feeling himself back on more familiar ground.

‘I knew Mr. Froulish slightly at the University,’ she went on. ‘It was well known that he was working on a remarkable novel. When I heard that he was living here, in’—she glanced at Betty—‘in retirement, and getting on with completing it, I thought it would be interesting if he would come and read some passages to us one evening. The next meeting is in five days, next Thursday evening. It isn’t much notice, but would you tell him we’ll assume he can come unless he telephones me?’ She gave him her number. ‘We meet at the Girls’ High School at eight o’clock.’

Before Charles could answer, Betty croaked, ‘All right. That’s your message. Now let’s see the back of you and your boy-friend as well. Poor fish,’ she added venomously, glaring at Hutchins.