“Now don’t upset yourself. Sylvia won’t be back to-night, and there’s no need to tug at me as if I was a cork in a bottle. People will think we’re a walking poppy-show, if you don’t act more quiet. They’re all turning round to stare at us.”
A four-wheeler appeared presently, and very soon they were walking down Tinderbox Lane. Michael felt rather like a little boy out with his nurse, as he kept turning back to exhort Mrs. Gainsborough to come more quickly. She grew more and more red in the face, and so wheezy that he was afraid something would happen to her, and for a few yards made no attempt to hurry her along. At last they reached Mulberry Cottage.
“Supposing Sylvia has come back!” he said.
“I keep on telling you she’s gone away for the night. Now get on indoors with you. You’ve nearly been my death.”
“I say, you don’t know how grateful I am to you!” Michael exclaimed, turning round and grasping her fat hands.
Mrs. Gainsborough shouted upstairs to Lily as loudly as her breathlessness would permit:
“I’ve brought you back that surprise packet I promised.”
Then she vanished, and Michael waited for Lily at the foot of the stairs. She came down very soon, looking very straight and slim in her philamot frock of Chinese crêpe that so well became her. Soon she was in his arms and glad enough to be petted after Sylvia’s rages.
“Lily, how can you bear to let Sylvia manage you like this? It’s absolutely intolerable.”
“She’s been horrid to me to-day,” said Lily resentfully.