"He might have counter-ordered the lemon-sole. That's Rickie all
over. Violently economical, and then loses his head, and all the
things go bad."

"Give them to the bedder while they're hot." This was done. She
accepted them dispassionately, with the air of one who lives
without nourishment. Tilliard continued to describe his sister's
coffee machine.

"What's that?" They could hear panting and rustling on the
stairs.

"It sounds like a lady," said Tilliard fearfully. He slipped the
piece of pie back. It fell into position like a brick.

"Is it here? Am I right? Is it here?" The door opened and in came
Mrs. Lewin. "Oh horrors! I've made a mistake."

"That's all right," said Ansell awkwardly.

"I wanted Mr. Elliot. Where are they?"

"We expect Mr. Elliot every-moment," said Tilliard.

"Don't tell me I'm right," cried Mrs. Lewin, "and that you're the
terrifying Mr. Ansell." And, with obvious relief, she wrung
Tilliard warmly by the hand.

"I'm Ansell," said Ansell, looking very uncouth and grim.