Gordon Selsbury came into the room unnoticed. He carried a dustpan and a short-handled broom. He stood for a while irresolutely, neither of the pair noticing him. Then:
“Have you heard from Gordon?”
Her face lit up.
“I’ve had the loveliest wires from him. Really he has been most thoughtful! The dear man has telegraphed from almost every station.”
Bobbie coughed.
“Somehow I thought he would,” he said.
She was searching her handbag and brought out a folded paper.
“Here is the last, from Crewe; it didn’t arrive until ten o’clock this morning. ‘Having a comfortable journey. Hope everything is going smoothly—Gordon.’”
Bobbie sat up.
“Oh, I say, that’s too bad,” he protested warmly—too warmly, he realised. “I mean, it’s too bad that didn’t arrive until to-day. Write to the Post Office.”