“Would you mind awfully driving poor little Christine over to her own place to get something or other for that horrid father of hers?”
Of course Riatt didn’t say he did mind; as a matter of fact he didn’t. He might even have enjoyed the prospect, if it hadn’t been for the slight hint of compulsion about it.
“It’s snowing, you know,” he said.
“It doesn’t amount to anything,” answered his cousin. “But surely, Max, you’re not afraid of a little snow, if she isn’t!”
“Anything to oblige you, Laura,” he said.
She did not quite like his tone, but felt she might safely leave the rest to Christine.
Mrs. Almar, unaware of these plots, settled down as soon as the meal was over, on a comfortable sofa large enough for two, with a box of cigarettes at her side and a current magazine that contained a new article on flying. The bird-like objects in the huge page of cloudy sky at once caught Max’s eye. He came and bent over it and her, with his hands in his pockets. Still absorbed in it, she half-unconsciously swept aside her skirts, and he sat down beside her. She murmured a question—it was only about planes, and he answered it. Their heads were close together when Christine came down in her dark furs ready to go. The bells of Jack Ussher’s fastest trotter were already to be heard tinkling at the door.
“Are you ready, Max?” said Laura, rather sharply.
“Laura expects every man to do his duty,” murmured Nancy, without looking up.
Riatt expressed himself as entirely ready. Ussher lent him a fur cap and heavy gloves, warned him about the charmingly uncertain character of the horse; he and Christine were tucked into the sleigh, and they were off.