“Well,” said her indignant sister, “you know perfectly well the whole thing was Guy and Pat’s fault. Why drag George into it? He had nothing to do with it. He told me he hated the whole thing, and wouldn’t have gone in for it at all if Guy hadn’t made him.”
“Oh, did he?” Cynthia said sweetly. “Oh!” She gazed at the flushed face of her sister with a good deal more interest than these simple words appeared to warrant. Perhaps Monica felt this too, for she turned a deeper colour and then marched with dignity from the room.
Dora looked at Cynthia and vulgarly winked. “Do you think so?” she asked cryptically.
“I’m sure of it,” said Cynthia, with complete conviction.
“Good!” said Dora; and to Mr. Priestley’s astonishment they kissed warmly.
“Well,” said Cynthia, when this ceremony had been performed, “we’d better be off too. You’ll be going back at once, Mr. Priestley? You’re sure you won’t stop and see the wanderers return?”
“I think perhaps not,” Mr. Priestley said with discretion. “I shall leave you to brave that storm, Mrs. Nesbitt. I shall have one of my own to weather at home, remember.”
Dora giggled in a way that reminded Mr. Priestley most delectably of Laura. “What are you really going to do with my erring sister, Mr. Priestley? You won’t be too hard on her, will you?”
“It’s all I’ve been able to do to make him hard enough,” smiled Cynthia.
They shook hands with Mr. Priestley. Dora, it was evident, bore him no malice. Dora and Laura were very exceptional young women. Mr. Priestley had reached the gate into the road when Cynthia, as if on a sudden impulse, darted after him.