One of the sets had come to an end, and Delia Lindale, who had been playing in it, was taking leave of her hostess. Since it was past Rose-Veronica's bedtime, Mrs. Haswell made no attempt to detain her. Her husband waved to her from the other court, and she sped away through the gate into the public footpath.
“I ought to be going too,” said Abby.
“No, you oughtn't: I'm going to run you home,” said Charles.
“Oh, rot! I can easily walk.”
“You can do more: you can walk beautifully, but you aren't going to.”
She laughed. “You are an ass! Honestly, there's no need to get your car out just to run me that little distance.”
“Of course not, and I shouldn't dream of doing so. I'm doing it for Mr. Drybeck,” said Charles, with aplomb.
“Really, that is very kind of you, my dear boy,” said Mr. Drybeck. “I am far from despising such a welcome offer. A most enjoyable game, that last.”
“Well, if you're going to motor Abby and Mr. Drybeck home, you could give the Major a lift too,” suggested Mrs. Haswell. “You won't mind waiting till the other game finishes, will you? Mavis, now that I've got you both here, I want you and Mrs. Cliburn to help me over the prizes for the Whist Drive. I ought to get them on Monday, I think, but we never settled what we ought to spend on them. It won't take many minutes. Ah, I see the game has ended! Who won? You looked to be very evenly matched.”
“Yes, a good ding-dong game,” said the Squire, mopping his face and neck. “Midgeholme and I just managed to pull it off, but it was a near thing. I'm not as young as I was. Hallo, you back, Plenmeller? Thought you'd gone.”