Vicky met his quizzical gaze with one of her blandest stares. Lady Dering walking briskly down the street with a shopping basket on her arm, had ample opportunity to observe her only son's expression as he stood looking into the celestially blue eyes of the prettiest girl in the county. She came to a halt a few paces away from them, and said in her cheerful, matter-of-fact way: "You look like two cats, trying to stare one another out of countenance. What's the matter?"
Hugh turned quickly. A tinge of colour stole into his cheeks; he said with a touch of awkwardness: "Hullo, Mother! I didn't know you were coming into the village. I'd have given you a lift."
"I hate men who neglect their mothers," said Vicky,sotto voce.
"Walking," said Ruth Dering, "is good for my figure. How are you, Vicky?"
Vicky looked piteously at her. "I was feeling quite extraordinarily well, but, if you don't mind my saying so, I think your son is utterly loathsome, which makes me feel quite quite sick in my tummy."
"Oh, I don't mind what you say about him!" said Lady Dering cordially. "What's he been doing?"
"Exercising superhuman self-control," said Hugh. "Come on, Vicky, don't be stuffy! are you going to let me drive you to Fritton, or are you not?"
Vicky glanced towards his car, and shook her head. "Oh no! I dressed specially for a Rolls-Royce, and I wouldn't look right in an open tourer."
Hugh grinned. "All right, Shylock! have your pound of flesh! I apologise for having spoilt your act. If there were any mud about, I'd eat it. Will that do?"
Vicky looked at Lady Dering. There was a naive question in her eyes. Lady Dering said: "Really, you know, you couldn't expect him to say more. You'd better go with him."