She was concerned.
“Why don’t you go by the night train—you could sleep?” she suggested, and he forced a smile.
“I shall sleep all right,” he said with spurious gaiety.
The talk went off in another direction, and then Bobbie came in for final instructions. Gordon was unaccountably irritated by this act of devotion to duty, and his “Good-morning” was like the crack of a whip.
“After you have gone,” said Diana, “I shall ask Trenter to show me such of your clothes as need go to the cleaners.”
“Trenter is going before me,” he said hastily. “He’s catching a train to Bristol. His aunt is seriously ill.”
“What on earth’s the matter with you?” gasped Bobbie.
Gordon turned, ready to be offensive, but it was not he at whom Bobbie was staring. Diana’s face was ghastly; her eyes were wide with a terror she could not conceal; her skin the colour of chalk. Gordon jumped up and ran to her.
“Whatever’s the matter?” he asked, in genuine alarm.
“Nothing,” she said with a gasp. “Perhaps I’m feeling the parting. I always go like this when my cousins go away!”