"Your energy makes me quite tired," I said, and at that moment the telephone rang and I retired to the back of the hall to answer it, leaving Joanna murmuring rather doubtfully something about rhubarb and French beans and exposing her ignorance of the vegetable garden.
"Yes?" I said into the telephone mouthpiece.
A confused noise of deep breathing came from the other end of the wire and a doubtful female voice said,
"Oh!"
"Yes?" I said again encouragingly.
"Oh," said the voice again, and then it inquired adenoidally,
"Is that- what I mean - is that Little Furze?"
"This is Little Furze."
"Oh!" This clearly a stock beginning to every sentence.
The voice inquired cautiously:
"Could I speak to Miss Partridge just a minute?"
"Certainly," I said.
"Who shall I say is calling?"
"Oh.
Tell her it's Agnes, would you?
Agnes Waddle."
"Agnes Waddle?"
"That's right."
Resisting the temptation to say
"Donald Duck to you," I put down the telephone receiver and called up the stairs to where I could hear the sound of Partridge's activities overhead.
"Partridge!
Partridge!"
Partridge appeared at the head of the stairs, a long mop in one hand, and a look of "What is it now?" clearly discernible behind her invariably respectful manner.
"Yes, sir?"
"Agnes Waddle wants to speak to you on the telephone."
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
I raised my voice:
"Agnes Waddle."
I have spelled the name as it presented itself to my mind.
But I will now spell it as it was actually written:
"Agnes Woddell - whatever can she want now?" Very much put out of countenance Partridge relinquished her mop and rustled down the stairs, her print dress crackling with agitation.
I beat an unobtrusive retreat into the dining room where Megan was wolfing down kidneys and bacon.
Megan, unlike Aimйe Griffith, was displaying no 'glorious morning face'.
In fact she replied very gruffly to my morning salutations and continued to eat in silence.
I opened the morning paper and a minute or two later Joanna entered, looking somewhat shattered.
"Whew!" she said.
"I'm so tired.
And I think I've exposed my utter ignorance of what grows when.
Aren't there runner beans this time of year?"
"August," said Megan.
"Well, one has them any time in London," said Joanna defensively.
"Tins, sweet fool," I said.
"And cold storage on ships from the far-flung limits of Empire."
"Like ivory, apes and peacocks?" asked Joanna.
"Exactly."
"I'd rather have peacocks," said Joanna thoughtfully.
"I'd like a monkey of my own as a pet," said Megan.
Meditatively peeling an orange, Joanna said:
"I wonder what it would feel like to be Aimйe Griffith, all bursting with health and vigour and enjoyment of life.
Do you think she's ever tired, or depressed, or - or wistful?"