Part 40 (1/2)
”Now,” said Jeffrey, in a high degree of interest, ”we're getting somewhere. What did I say to them? What did I say through Madame Beattie?”
”We don't know.”
”Ask Moore.”
”Mr. Moore doesn't know.”
”He can ask his interpreter, can't he?”
”Andrea? He won't tell.”
Jeffrey released his knees and lay back against the bench. He gave a hoot of delighted laughter, and Lydia, watching them from the window, thought of Miss Amabel with a wistful envy and wondered how she did it.
”Weedie's own henchman won't go back on her,” he exclaimed, in an incredulous pleasure. ”Now what spell has that extraordinary old woman over the south of Europe?”
”South of Europe?”
”Why, yes, the population you've got here. It's south of Europe chiefly, isn't it? eastern Europe?--the part Weedie hasn't turned into ward politicians yet. Who is Andrea? This is the first time I have heard his honourable name. Weedon's interpreter.”
”He has the fruit store on Mill Street.”
”Ah! Amabel, do you know what this interview has done for me? It's given me a perfectly overwhelming desire to speak the tongues.”
”Foreign languages, Jeff?”
”Any language that will help me beat Weedie at his game, or give me a look at the cards old Madame Beattie holds. I feel a fool. Why can't I know what they're talking about when they can kick up row enough under my very nose to make you come and rag me like this?”
”Jeff,” said Miss Amabel, ”unless you are prepared to go into social work seriously and see things as Mr. Moore sees them--”
Jeff gave a little crow of derision and she coloured. ”It wouldn't hurt you, Jeff, to see some things as he does. The necessity of getting into touch with our foreign population--”
”I'll do that all right,” said Jeffrey. ”That's precisely what I mean.
I'm going to learn foreign tongues and talk to 'em.”
”They say Madame Beattie speaks a dozen or so and I don't know how many dialects.”
”Oh, I can't compete with Madame Beattie. She's got the devil on her side.”
Miss Amabel rose to her feet and stood regarding him sorrowfully. He looked up at her with a glance full of affection, yet too merry for her heavy mood. Then he got on his feet and took her parasol.
”You haven't noticed the corn,” said he. ”Don't you know you must praise the work of a man's hands?”
”I don't know whether it's a good thing for you or not,” said she. ”Yes, it must have been, so far. You're tanned.”
”I feel fit enough.”
”You don't look over twenty.”
”Oh, I'm over twenty, thank you,” said Jeff. A shadow settled on his face; it even touched his eyes, mysteriously, and dulled them. ”I'm not tanned all through.”
”But you're only doing this for a time?”