“You girls can go with Morrison. I shall take a glass of boiling water with peppermint,” he declared, “and go to bed. I’m in agony.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?” Elsie asked, her heart sinking.
“No, no, go and enjoy yourself.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel better in a bit, and come and join us,” she suggested, and thankfully made her escape.
The gardens were lit with Japanese lanterns and crowded with holiday-makers. Pale frocks and scarves flickered oddly in and out of the shadows and beyond the bright circle of glaring white light thrown out from the raised and roofed circular platform of the bandstand.
“No hope of chairs, I suppose,” said Geraldine disconsolately. “We’re late, thanks to Horace. Just look at the people.”
Morrison volunteered to try and find a seat, and they watched his tall figure disappear into the throng of people.
“I shall be sick if I have to stand for long, that’s certain,” declared Geraldine. “I believe the sun was too hot for me this afternoon. My head’s splitting.”
“Take off your hat, why don’t you?”
Elsie’s own hair was only covered with a blue motor veil, knotted at either ear, and with floating ends.