“Have you really?” And again her eyes wandered to the page.
“It is not considered polite to read—er—when you have some one to talk to.”
She closed her book, and said, “Excuse me, please, I have not learnt manners yet. I will not read, but I am awfully interested in the story.”
“And not in the least in me, eh? How crushing!”
She coloured up to her hair.
“I have it!” he shouted triumphantly.
“What have you caught?” she demanded, with brisk curiosity.
“You, bless my soul!” Here he sat down. “Why, you are the girl at the gate. Yes, I recognise your eyes, though you are dressed up. You cannot have forgotten us—the motor people! And my friend Harry Coxford had a row with your young man. Don’t you remember?”
“Oh, indeed, I remember it well enough! And you were the dummy! Patsie had drink taken, and I got a queer fright, I declare, when the two were in handy grips.”
“What were you doing there, that day?”