At the corner of the Row, the big car drew abreast of the rider. "Why on earth are you riding on Bank Holiday, Beryl—the park is full of louts, and there aren't half-a-dozen people in the Row!"
Beryl Merville looked at him quizzically. "And why on earth are you in the park, Ronnie; and who was your beautiful little friend?"
He frowned. "Friend? Oh, you mean the girl I was speaking to? Would you call her beautiful—yes, I suppose she is pretty, but quite a kid. Her father is an old friend of mine—colonel—I forget his name, he is something at the War Office. I have an idea they live near the park. I saw her walking and stopped the car to talk to her. Frankly I was so bored that I almost fell on her neck. I wasn't with her for five minutes."
Beryl nodded and dismissed the matter from her mind. She was more interested in another subject.
"Yes, dear, I had your letter. I'm an awful brute not to have come over and seen you. But the fact is, I have been working hard. Don't sneer, Beryl. I really have. Sturgeon, the editor of the Post-Herald, has discovered in me a latent genius for writing. It is rather fun—apparently I have a flair for that kind of work."
"But, Ronnie, this is great news! Stop your car by the corner and find a man to hold my horse—there is an awful lot I want to talk to you about."
He parked his car and, helping her dismount, handed the reins to an idle groom. A watchful attendant drew near.
"You will have to pay for the seats, Ronnie, I have no money."
"Happily I have two tickets," he said and realized his mistake before he drew them from his pocket.
"I thought you hadn't been with your colonel's daughter more than five minutes?" she challenged and laughed, "I sometimes think that you'd rather lie than eat!"