“Nancy, you know I shall expect you to write to me? When you’re at Porth Cariad with my mother and the girls, I mean.... It’ll look funny if you don’t.”
“Oh, of course. For the look of the thing,” said I, “I’ll write.”
“Sorry to trouble you. You can put a blank sheet into the envelope, you know, if you like.”
“I hadn’t thought of that!” I laughed, glad to be once again on comfortable terms of chatty friendship. “But—so I can.”
“Well, as long as you don’t forget to send something,” said Billy Waters.
* * * * *
He reminded me of this once again, on Euston platform. For we—his mother, his sisters, his official fiancée and the little dog—left London at eleven o’clock on the following Saturday morning.
That evening we were all among the sand-slopes and the gorse and the soft calling of the waves at Porth Cariad.