There was a dreadful block in Porpoise Street when Lucia’s car came to pick up her and Georgie after their breakfast at Starling Cottage, for Mrs Wyse’s Royce was already drawn up there. The two purred and backed and advanced foot by foot, they sidled and stood on pavements meant for pedestrians, and it was not till Lucia’s car had gone backwards again round the corner below Miss Mapp’s garden-room, and Mrs Wyse’s forward towards the High Street, that Lucia’s could come to the door, and the way down Porpoise Street lie open for their departure to Riseholme. As long as they were in sight, Susan stood waving her hand, and Algernon bowing.

Often during the drive Lucia tried, but always in vain, to start the subject which had kept them both awake last night, and tell Georgie that never would she marry again, but the moment she got near the topic of friendship, or even wondered how long Mrs Plaistow had been a widow or whether Major Benjy would ever marry, Georgie saw a cow or a rainbow or something out of the window and violently directed attention to it. She could not quite make out what was going on in his mind. He shied away from such topics as friendship and widowhood, and she wondered if that was because he was not feeling quite ready yet, but was screwing himself up. If he only would let her develop those topics she could spare him the pain of a direct refusal, and thus soften the blow. But she had to give it up, determining, however, that when he came to dine with her that evening, she would not be silenced by his irrelevances: she would make it quite clear to him, before he embarked on his passionate declaration that, with all her affection for him, she could never marry him… Poor Georgie!

She dropped him at his house, and as soon as he had told Foljambe about his having taken the house at Tilling (for that must be done at once), he would come across to the Hurst.

‘I hope she will like the idea,’ said Georgie very gravely, as he got out, ‘and there is an excellent room for her, isn’t there?’

Foljambe opened the door to him.

‘A pleasant outing, I hope, sir,’ said she.

‘Very indeed, thank you, Foljambe,’ said Georgie. ‘And I’ve got great news. Mrs Lucas has taken a house at Tilling for August and September, and so have I. Quite close to hers. You could throw a stone.’

‘That’ll be an agreeable change,’ said Foljambe.

‘I think you’ll like it. A beautiful bedroom for you.’

‘I’m sure I shall,’ said Foljambe.

Georgie was immensely relieved, and, as he went gaily across to the Hurst, he quite forgot for the time about this menace of matrimony.