“Why, we’ve had the whole of this afternoon,” she told him.
“Do you call sitting in the middle of Kensington Gardens being alone? Why, it was crammed with people,” he ejaculated in disgust.
“I must go, I must go, I must go,” Lily whispered and almost seemed to be preening her wings in the lamplight before she flew away.
“I say, what number is Drake’s house?” Michael asked, with a consummate affectation of casual enquiry.
She told him laughingly, and in a most malicious hurry would not even linger a moment to ask him why he wanted to know. Coldly and deliberately Michael after dinner rang the bell of Drake’s house.
“Is—er—Master Arthur at home?” he asked the maid.
“Master Arthur,” she cried. “Someone to see you.”
“Hullo, Bangs,” shouted Drake, emerging effusively from a doorway.
“Oh, hullo,” said Michael loftily. “I thought I’d call to see if you felt like coming out.”
“Right-o,” said Drake. “Wait half a tick while I tell my mater. Come in, and meet my people.”