“You might have done it a little sooner,” said Miss Blow.
“I might, and that’s a fact,” said Jimmy apologetically.
“Where are the other gentlemen?” said Miss Blow.
“The other gentlemen! Is it them ones that come in on the train? Did you not see them going by on their bicycles? They’re the most of the way to Pool-a-donagh by this time.”
It occurred to Miss Blow that she had been deceived, tricked, abominably insulted by Mr. Goddard. She distinctly remembered the bicyclists. They had passed down the street almost immediately after the arrival of the train. It was quite impossible for Mr. Goddard to have had any serious conversation with them. She hesitated, on the verge of tears. Then the utter futility of weeping in the presence of Jimmy O’Loughlin struck her. She pulled herself together and, with prompt decision, settled her course of action.
“Get the car,” she said, “at once. I shall drive over to Ballymoy and see Mr. Goddard.”
“The car’s not in it,” said Jimmy.
Miss Blow stamped her foot.
“Get any car,” she said. “I don’t care whether it’s your own or another.”