Pitying her, he was turning over various consolatory words in his mind when she spoke again - and startled him.
“Which of those damned bitches is it?” asked Egg fiercely.
Mr. Satterthwaite stared at her, his mouth fallen open in surprise.
Egg took him by the arm again and shook him violently.
“You must know,” she cried.
“Which of them?
The grey-haired one or the other?”
“My dear, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do.
You must.
Of course it’s some woman.
He liked me - I know he liked me. One of those two women the other night must have seen it, too, and determined to get him away from me.
I hate women.
Lousy cats.
Did you see her clothes - that one with the green hair?
They made me gnash my teeth with envy.
A woman who has clothes like that has a pull - you can’t deny it.
She’s quite old and ugly as sin, really, but what does it matter.
She makes everyone else look like a dowdy curate’s wife.
Is it her? Or is it the other one with the grey hair?
She’s amusing - you can see that. She’s got masses of S.A.
And he called her Angie. It can’t be the one like a wilted cabbage. Is it the smart one or is it Angie?”
“My dear, you’ve got the most extraordinary ideas into your head.
He - er - Charles Cartwright isn’t the least interested in either of those women.”
“I don’t believe you.
They’re interested in him, anyway ... ”
“No, no, no, you’re making a mistake.
This is all imagination.”
“Bitches,” said Egg. “That’s what they are!”
“You mustn’t use that word, my dear.”
“I can think of a lot worse things to say than that.”
“Possibly, possibly, but pray don’t do so.
I can assure you that you are labouring under a misapprehension.”
“Then why has he gone away - like this?”
Mr. Satterthwaite cleared his throat.
“I fancy he - er - thought it best.”
Egg stared at him piercing.
“Do you mean - because of me?”
“Well - something of the kind, perhaps.”
“And so he’s legged it.
I suppose I did show my hand a bit plainly ...
Men do hate being chased, don’t they?
Mums is right, after all ...
You’ve no idea how sweet she is when she talks about men.
Always in the third person - so Victorian and polite.
‘A man hates being run after; a girl should always let the man make the running.’ Don’t you think it’s a sweet expression - make the running? Sounds the opposite of what it means.
Actually that’s just what Charles has done - made the running. He’s run away from me.
He’s afraid.
And the devil of it is, I can’t go after him. If I did I suppose he’d take a boat to the wilds of Africa or somewhere.”
“Hermione,” said Mr. Satterthwaite, “are you serious about Sir Charles?”