“A headquarters woman! She’s got the style. Come on.”
“Where?”
“She wants us ...” said Heloise listlessly. “What’s the good of fighting, Gordon? We’re entangled in the mesh of circumstance.”
It was a favourite profundity of Heloise; he had heard her say it many times. But they were not entangled then.
Five minutes later.
A small brown-faced man was shaking Gordon by the hand, by both hands, by alternate hands. In the interval of shaking, he held hands.
“Your uncle ... and so young! And yet, he is older than he seems! And this is Aunt Lizzie!”
He kissed the patient Heloise on both cheeks.
Gordon was a dumbfounded spectator. Who was this infernal little cad, he demanded—Diana had omitted an introduction.
After a while it came.