The dilapidated grey car was being turned round feverishly.
* * * * *
Forty-five minutes later we sped up the shadowy drive and stopped by our own front door.
'Pierrette' switched off the engine and sat looking miserably before her.
"I wish," she said slowly, "I wish you'd let me go with you. I did hate leaving him so, and I'd feel——"
With a hand on the door, I touched her pale cheek.
"My darling," said I, "you've done more than your bit—far more, and you're going straight to bed. As for leaving him—well, you know how much I liked it, but I know when I'm done."
"'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone…."
Delivered with obvious emotion in a muffled baritone voice, Moore's famous words seemed to come from beneath us.
Adèle and I stared at one another with starting eyes….