"Sorry," said Kenneth in exactly the same cheerful, impersonal accents that he had used before.
"And besides, what would have happened supposing the train hadn't been late? You might have had to spend the night there."
Philip's tone was that of one who points out some terrible danger barely escaped.
Lily felt conscious of a spasm of sharp impatience. No wonder that Kenneth was reticent, even as she herself, as a child, had frequently been deceitful, in the endeavour to evade Philip's portentous anxieties and distrusts.
He was beginning now a serious exposition of the utter inability of "very young people" ever to judge what was best, and Lily felt that she must stop him before her own exasperation made itself felt.
"But what about Nicholas, Kenneth? Why didn't you speak to him?"
Kenneth turned to her, obviously rendered loquacious by his desire to follow her lead.
"Well, I'd really half thought of looking him up, only then I saw scaffolding and stuff outside, and I thought he wouldn't be there. But I looked up at the windows and saw him, as it happened, staring out. And I was just going to cross the street when a taxi drew up at the door, and the carrotty-haired one got out, and ran up the steps like blazes and let herself in. So then I bunked off."
"Let herself in," repeated Philip slowly, "How could she do that?"
"With a key," said Kenneth matter-of-factly. "I suppose old Nicholas didn't want the fag of going down to answer the door, and the servants were all away, or out, or something."