“They’ve got queer names, and they live in a queer house!” Cynthia actually gave a little laugh. “But are you going to walk all night, Mary dear?”
“Oh, poor thing! I forgot you! You’re tired? We’ll turn back.”
They retraced their steps, again passing Tower Cottage, into which its occupants must have gone, for they were no longer to be seen.
“That name’s on the tip of my tongue,” said Mary in amused vexation. “I shall get it in a moment!”
Cynthia had relapsed into gloom. “It doesn’t matter in the least,” she murmured.
“It’s Beaumaroy!” said Mary in triumph.
“I don’t wonder you couldn’t remember that!”