'Oh, please, no,' she cried. 'I couldn't bear it. I'll tell you what I
should love--the advertisements. There's one about sardines. I started
it, and it seemed splendid. It's at the back somewhere.'
'Is this it--Langley and Fielding's sardines?'
'That's it.'
Martin began to read.
'"Langley and Fielding's sardines. When you want the daintiest, most
delicious sardines, go to your grocer and say, 'Langley and Fielding's,
please!' You will then be sure of having the finest Norwegian smoked
sardines, packed in the purest olive oil."'
Elsa was sitting with her eyes closed and a soft smile of pleasure
curving her mouth.
'Go on,' she said, dreamily.
'"Nothing nicer."' resumed Martin, with an added touch of eloquence as
the theme began to develop, '"for breakfast, lunch, or supper. Probably
your grocer stocks them. Ask him. If he does not, write to us. Price
fivepence per tin. The best sardines and the best oil!"'
'Isn't it _lovely_?' she murmured.
Her hand, as it swung, touched his. He held it. She opened her eyes.
'Don't stop reading,' she said. 'I never heard anything so soothing.'
'Elsa!'
He bent towards her. She smiled at him. Her eyes were dancing.
'Elsa, I--'
'Mr Keith,' said a quiet voice, 'desired me to say--'
Martin started away. He glared up furiously.
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