“Er—er—hullo,” said Giles, wiping the sweat from his face. “Hullo.”
“Is—is that you, Gill?” said Katharine tremulously.
“Er—yes, dear. How—how are you?”
“Oh, all right, thanks. How—how are you?”
“Oh, full of beans, thanks . . .”
There was a dreadful silence.
Forsyth began to shake with laughter.
“Are you there, Gill?”—anxiously.
“Yes, dear.”
“That’s right. I was afraid we’d been cut off.”
“No, I’m here, all right. . . . How—how are you? Oh, I’ve said that,
haven’t I? I mean——”
“Are you sure you’re all right, Gill?”
“Right as rain, dear, right as rain. Why?”
“I don’t know,” said Katharine. “I thought you sounded—er—not quite
yourself.”
“Well, I’m not really. I—I had a dream last night.”
“Did you? What did you dream?”
“I—I forget now,” stammered Giles. “But—you know. It’s sort of
unsettled me.”
“Well, do be careful, dear. It worries me to hear you so—so unlike
yourself.”
“Does it? I mean—am I?”
Forsyth writhed.
“Gill, what _is_ the matter?”
There was another silence.