Neville waved an airy farewell, and disappeared down the stairs. Ten minutes later he entered the drawing-room of the Norths' house through the long window. Helen was writing a letter at her desk, and her sister was sitting on the floor, correcting four typescripts at once.
"Hullo!" she said, glancing up. "You still at large?"
"Oh, I'm practically cleared! I say, will you come to Bulgaria with me?"
Sally groped for her monocle, screwed it into her eye, and looked at him. Then she put down the typescript she was holding, and replied matter-of-factly: "Yes, rather. When?"
"Oh, as soon as possible, don't you think?"
Helen twisted round in her chair. "Sally, what on earth do you mean? You can't possibly go away with Neville like that!"
"Why not?" asked Neville interestedly.
"Don't be absurd! You know perfectly well it wouldn't be proper."
"Oh no, it probably won't. That's the charm of travel in the Balkans. But she's very broadminded, really."
"But -'