Peter rang the bell.
“And my father’s gone?” he asked.
“Yes; mother called for him and drove him down. I’ve brought my little Cording car for us.”
“Just you and me? That’ll be lovely,” said Peter. “Do I quite trust your driving, though?”
“You may drive yourself, if you like,” said she.
“No, thanks; I trust that far less. I must see if my bag is packed. Tell Burrows we want tea at once.”
“Can’t I help you to pack it, if it isn’t done?” asked Silvia.... Somehow she would have liked to do that, to fold his clothes, to squeeze out his sponge.
“No; it’s so sordid,” said Peter. “Besides, it’s probably done already.”
“If it isn’t, call me,” said she. “No man has any idea of how to pack.”
“And you want to teach me?” asked Peter, lingering on the stairs.