“Where are we going to?” said Irene blankly. (“My goodness, Elsie, just look at your ring! Doesn’t it look queer?) I suppose you’ll take a taxi?”
Mr. Williams showed no alacrity to fall in with the suggestion, but after a dubious look round at the grey sky and rain-glistening pavement he signed with his umbrella to a taxi-cab.
“I suppose we’d better. Can I see you to your ’bus first, or do you prefer the Tube?” he added to Irene.
Both girls flushed, and looked at one another.
“Aren’t you going to give us lunch, I should like to know?” murmured Elsie.
“I’m sure if I’m in the way, I’ll take myself off at once, and only too pleased to do it,” said Irene, her voice very angry. “Please don’t trouble to see me to the station, Mr. Williams.”
“As you like,” he replied coolly, and held out his hand. “Good-bye, Miss—er—Tidmarsh. I’m glad to have met you, and I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you in Elsie’s new home one of these days.”
“Oh yes, do come, Ireen!” cried the bride, forgetting her mortification for a moment. “I’ll run in and see you one of these evenings, and we’ll settle it.”
“Get in, Elsie. You’re getting wet,” said Mr. Williams, and he pushed her into the taxi and climbed in after her, leaving Irene Tidmarsh walking away very quickly in the rain.
“Well, I must say you might have been a bit more civil,” began Elsie, and then, as she turned her head round to face him, the words died away on her lips.