Will you have some, Margaret?
MARGARET. No, dear Mr Jacob.
TWISDEN. Charles?
WINSOR. No, thanks. The door is closed.
TWISDEN. [Dipping a biscuit in the tea] Now, then?
WINSOR. The General knows something which on the face of it looks rather
queer. Now that he's going to be called, oughtn't Dancy to be told of
it, so that he may be ready with his explanation, in case it comes out?
TWISDEN. [Pouring some tea into the saucer] Without knowing, I can't
tell you.
WINSOR and MARGARET exchange looks, and TWISDEN drinks from the
saucer. MARGARET. Tell him, Charles.
WINSOR. Well! It rained that evening at Meldon. The General happened
to put his hand on Dancy's shoulder, and it was damp.
TWISDEN puts the saucer down and replaces the cup in it. They both
look intently at him.
TWISDEN. I take it that General Canynge won't say anything he's not
compelled to say.
MARGARET. No, of course; but, Mr Jacob, they might ask; they know it
rained. And he is such a George Washington.
TWISDEN. [Toying with a pair of tortoise-shell glasses] They didn't ask
either of you. Still-no harm in your telling Dancy.
WINSOR. I'd rather you did it, Margaret.
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