“Please don't 'dear child' me,” she said seriously; “you're going to be a good little Tommy and let me go home by myself.”
She held out her hand frankly and the laughing appeal in her eyes was irresistible.
“Well, I'll see you to a cab,” he insisted.
“And listen while I give the driver instructions where he is to take me?”
She shook her head reprovingly.
“It must be an awful thing to be a policeman.”
He stood back with folded arms, a stern frown on his face.
“Don't you trust me?” he asked.
“No,” she replied.
“Quite right,” he approved; “anyway I'll see you to the cab and you can tell the driver to go to Charing Cross station and on your way you can change your direction.”