“I’m going in to lunch,” said I.
“Ask them to keep some for me,” said Dolly, and she turned up the
sleeves of her gown, till her wrists were free.
“It’s most unfair,” said I indignantly.
“I don’t care if it is,” said Dolly, stooping down to lift a pot.
I watched her strain to lift it. She had chosen the largest and
heaviest; she sighed delicately and delicately she panted. She also
looked at her hands, and held them up for me to see the lines of brown
on the pink. I put my hands in my pockets and said most sulkily, as I
turned away towards the house:
“All right. It wasn’t Mrs. Hilary then.”
Dolly rose up, seized me by the arm, and made me run to the house.
“Mr. Carter,” she cried, “would stop for those wretched pots. He’s moved
all except two, but he’s broken three. Isn’t he stupid?”
“You are an old ass, Carter,” said Archie.
“I believe you’re right, Archie,” said I.