"Eleanor can look after the baggage," she said, "and Isobel can look after Eleanor. The turtle-doves can take a taxi." And she closed her strong old fingers around Quin's wrist and pulled him forward.
He shot an appealing glance over his shoulder at Eleanor, who shook her head in exasperation; then he obediently conducted Madam to her carriage and scrambled in beside her.
"Now," she said, when he had got a cushion at her back and a stool under her foot, "tell me: where's Ranny—drunk as usual?"
"No, siree!" said Quin proudly. "Sober as usual. He hasn't touched a drop since you went away."
She looked at him incredulously.
"Are you lying?"
"I am not."
Her hard, suspicious old face began to twitch and her eyelids reddened.
"This is your doing," she said gruffly. "You've put more backbone into him than all the doctors together."
"That's not all I've done," said Quin. "What are you going to say when I tell you I've sold him a farm?"