I saw them off and came back to her. She was still standing in the same place, looking very thoughtful and frowning slightly; it was by no means the trustful expression with which her eyes had dwelt on Fillingford's.
"Directly after lunch I must go down to Hatcham Ford and see Mr. Octon. I want you to come with me."
"I? Not Miss Chatters?"
"You—not Chat. Don't be stupid," she said.
CHAPTER VIII
A SECRET TREATY
Jenny's first remark as we drove down together to Hatcham Ford seemed to have very little to do with the matter in hand. Still less to do with it, as one would think, had the fact that, just before starting, she had—I learned it afterwards—given Chat a piece of handsome old lace.
"I like your name," she remarked. "'Austin Austin'—quite a good idea of your parents'! One's only got to drop the 'Mr.' to be friendly at once. No learning a strange Algernon, or Edward, or things of that kind!"
"Do drop it," said I.