"It's nothing, only that damn waiter-" Mr Abbot muttered, his face alarmingly pale.
"All finished now" she assured him.
He gave a great sigh.
"Most awfully sorry" he said at last. "Can't understand what came over me."
"So blessed my dear there's still someone to speak to them these days."
"Terrible thing that half the waiters now don't know what they're serving. But I must apologize Jane. In front of John Pomfret too."
"I shouldn't let that even enter your head" she sweetly protested. Yet when he raised his doglike eyes to hers she was looking over to where John and Liz had been.
"See much of him these days?"
"Of poor John?" Her eyes came back on him. To an extraordinary degree they were kind and guileless. "Why goodness gracious me no! Not from one year's end to another,"
"Can't imagine what people find in the chap."
"Oh but he has thousands of friends." She was looking round the restaurant again with her lovely apologetic smile. "Thousands!"
"Little Penelope care for the fellow?"
"Why yes how funny you should say it, now I come to think, Richard, he did come to tea only the other day, tea with her of course. He's simply sweet with darling Penelope."
"Only asked because children know you know."
She brought her eyes back once more to smile full in his great handsome face. She did not say a word.
"Because they size a man up. Instinct or something.
Always prefer a child's opinion to me own."
She gave a light airy little laugh.
"And now" he went on, raising his voice "now this damn waiter" he said and twisted right round in the chair "it's got so we'll never be served! Good God I can't apologize enough. Hardly ever see you except luncheon Sundays, then this sort of thing must crop up."
Pascal hastened over.
"Have you all gone home then man?" Mr Abbot demanded.
"Oh sir, Mrs Weatherby madam, in two minutes, yessir please" and Pascal went in pursuit of the headwaiter.
"My dear." Mrs Weatherby smiled. "Heavens how I love this place! Why I could sit where I am this moment the whole day long."
"Decent of you" he said.
"Have you heard about Arthur Morris?" she inquired. When he shook his head she passed on what John had told.
"Good Lord" he pronounced, entirely grave. "It's serious all right then. Can't tell where these things'll stop" he added. "No telling at all! Well Jane, that's bad news you bring there."
"Isn't it dreadful" she gravely replied. "I'll have to try and see him at the clinic."
"Jolly decent if you would. To cheer the poor unfortunate fellow."
"You are sweet to be so sad" she said.
"Then John Pomfret laughed of course?"
"Well darling to tell the utter truth I couldn't help myself even. Oh I was most to blame."
"If you did, I maintain it was out of common or garden politeness, there you are. Never will understand a man like that though. Good war record, plumb through the desert, all the way up Italy, must have had umpteen fellows killed right beside him. Did he laugh then out there-eh?"
Mrs Weatherby began to heave without a sound.
"Me being ridiculous again dear?" he asked, at his most humble.
"Only just a very little bit darling Richard. Oh I'm hopeless I know I am" she said and dabbed at her brilliant eyes with a handkerchief. "You'll have to forgive it, that's all."
He watched her. His look was adoring.
"Bless you" he said.
"You are so sweet" she answered then composed herself.
Pascal and the headwaiter hurried over with a trolley crowned by a dome of chromium which between them they removed with a conjuror's flourish to disclose the roast. Abbot watched this closely, leaned forward to touch the plate on which they were to serve Jane's portion perhaps to make sure that it was hot, and in general was threatening although at first he said very little. Mrs Weatherby, the appreciative audience, greeted this almost magical presentation with small delighted, cries, praised everything but told Gaspard to take away the potatoes that he had laid, one by one, around her portion in the loving way a jeweller will lay out great garnets beside the design to which he is to work, before the setting is begun. Pascal conjured these off in what seemed to be despair.
"Sure everything's all right?" Mr Abbot demanded and put out a hand to detain Pascal in case the man had it in mind to flee.
"Simply delicious thank you. Dear Richard do start on yours. Why this is divine, simply melts in one's mouth!"
"Fetch Mrs Weatherby a sharp knife Gaspard, now then" he ordered. "She can't use what she's got, man! Here give me!" He reached out a hand to Jane.
"No Richard no, you shan't. The veal's too perfect."
The trolley was withdrawn, Pascal's act over. They ate in silence for a while, appeared to be in contemplation.
"Richard" she said at last, having dabbed at her red mouth with a napkin "I'm worried to death about my Philip!"
"What's the lad up to now?"
"Oh my dear he so needs a father's influence. The dread time has come I'm afraid! I'm fussed, dear Richard."
"If I'm to help I must know more you know."
"I almost can't find the way to tell you, it's all so confusing butt there's Philip's whole attitude to women."
"Playing fast and loose?"
"Oh no I rather wish he would though I fear he is far too much of a snob for that, no no, worse, it's the other, oh dear if I go on like this I never shall explain, oh but Richard what has one done to deserve things? Sometimes I almost wonder if he knows the facts of life even. You see he respects girls so!"
Mrs Weatherby made her great eyes very round and large to give Dick Abbot an adorable long glance of woe.
"Good God" he replied with caution.
"It's not often I wish his father were alive again. You remember how Jim treated me, you're my living witness darling, but oh my dear I have moments sometimes when I'm not sure what to think."
"You mean he's a-?" Mr Abbot demanded lowering.
She broke into a sweet peal of laughter. "Oh Richard I do love you now and then" she cried.
"Wish you could more often" he said, rather glum.
"I'm sorry my dear, there you are. But it's a man about the house he needs I'm almost certain, an older one."
"No shortage you could marry, Jane" he gruffly said. "Why there's half a dozen or more would jump at the chance."
"I couldn't dear. I'd simply never dare!"
"Why on earth not?"
"Because of darling little Penelope!!"
"But good heavens-"
"So jealous" she explained "such a saint I really believe she would be ill!" Her expression was of admiring love and pride.
"Are you serious?" he asked.
"You don't know what these things can be" she answered. "I'm everything to Pen, everything. She often says 'Mummy I'd simply rather die!' Of course they copy the words out of one's very mouth but I'd never dare."
"Well then what is wrong with Philip?"
"He just treats girls as if they weren't real."
"How d'you want him to behave? Chuck 'em about?"
"Oh but he must learn to treat women as human beings."
"Maybe he does behind your back Jane."
She gaily laughed. "My dear I'm almost certain not" she said. "No he's so finicky with theme."
"You marry again" he insisted.
"But I've got used to being alone!"
"I can believe that" he agreed. "Besides you wouldn't necessarily be doing it for yourself would you? And after all my dear we can't pay too much attention to the sixyear-olds. Pen will snap out of it."
"And one thing that won't snap them out of things, as you call it, is for their poor deluded mothers to remarry."
"So you'll sacrifice Philip to little Penelope, is that the idea?"