“It doesn’t matter,” she said generously. “How long before the next train starts?”
“About half-an-hour.”
“That’ll do nearly as well. My boxes have gone on, but I can claim them in London.”
“We don’t want to stand in this stuffy station,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk.”
She began to speak, and then stopped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Shan’t—shan’t we be recognized?”
“Not if we go round the harbor. We shan’t be likely to meet anyone there who knows us.”
It was odd, this keeping up of respectable appearances to the last. Ruthita, Grandmother Cardover, Sir Charles, my father—all the world would know to-morrow. They would spread their hands before their faces and look shocked, and peek out at us through their fingers.
“No one ever thpeaks to me.” Dorrie was reproachfully calling our attention to her presence.