“And you—you came here and called me Aunt Nell.”
“You’re far the nicest aunt I’ve ever seen or even imagined.”
“And you actually had the cheek to——”
Mrs. MacDermott stopped abruptly and blushed. She was thinking of the kisses. His thoughts followed hers, though she did not complete the sentence.
“Only the first day,” he said. “You wouldn’t let me afterwards. Except once, and you didn’t really let me then. I just did it. I give you my word I couldn’t help it. You looked so jolly. No fellow could have helped it. I believe Bertram would have done the same, though he is a poet.”
“And now,” said Mrs. MacDermott, “before you go——”
“Must I go——”
“Out of this house and back to London today,” said Mrs. MacDermott. “But before you go I’d rather like to know who you are, since you’re not Bertram Connell.”
“My name is Maitland, Robert Maitland, but they generally call me Bob. I’m in the 30th Lancers. I say, it was rather funny your thinking I couldn’t ride and turning on that old parson to talk poetry to me.”
Mrs. MacDermott allowed herself to smile.