Her dark brows met in a somber frown; she shook her head, waving her forefinger in front of her face; an odd, foreign little gesture.
“No!” she said. “Keep quiet! Don’t speak to me. Let me think.”
“Think!” said Ross to himself. “I don’t believe you’re capable of it, my girl. But certainly you’re even less capable of listening to any one. Very well; go ahead with your thinking, then; and I’ll wait for the next development.”
He lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall, smoking, not sorry for an interval of peace.
“Look at the time!” Amy commanded sharply “You’ll be late getting to the station, unless you hurry. Why didn’t you remind me?”
“Inexcusable of me,” said Ross. “I hope I shan’t lose my job.”
She apparently did not choose to notice this flippancy.
“Come!” she ordered, and went past him, down the stairs, and out of that sorry little cottage. She ran all the way to the car, and two or three times she said “Hurry!” to Ross, who kept easily at her side with his usual stride.
“Now!” she said. “Drive as fast as you possibly can!”
“Sorry,” said Ross, “but my only license is one I had in Manila—and even that’s expired. I can’t afford to take chances.”