Lawrence said little, but Gwen saw a light come into his eyes that he could not altogether hide. Paddy at first was vexed, and showed it.
“Don’t be an idiot,” quoth Gwen. “Why, it stands to reason it’s pleasanter to have an escort for a long, cold, dark journey like that, and Lawrence is splendid to travel with. He just looks after you all the time and doesn’t bother to talk. I shall come and fetch you in the brougham in the afternoon and go to Euston, and see you both off myself.”
She did so, and Paddy’s good aunt was immensely impressed by the magnificence of the livery and horses of the equipage, that drew up in the dingy Shepherd’s Bush street that December afternoon, outside the doctor’s highly coloured front door. Gwen herself she only saw dimly through the drawing-room curtains, inside the brougham, but even that glimpse so impressed her that for several days the church guilds and things had a rest, in favour of this vision from the far-off fashionable world.
Paddy took it all very coolly. She did not even wear her best hat, which greatly scandalised her aunt, but as Paddy explained, it was too heavy on her forehead to travel in and the other would do quite as well.
When they reached Euston, Lawrence was waiting, having artfully reached the station first in order to procure not only their tickets, but, by a substantial tip, the first-class compartment for themselves.
“What! here already!” cried Gwen. “Ye gods and fishes, is the world coming to an end! Mark it down on your cuff, Lawrence, that you once caught a train with five minutes to spare, instead of leisurely strolling up after it was already on the move, and having to scramble into the guard’s van.”
Lawrence took no notice.
“Do you prefer the dining-car or dinner baskets?” he asked Paddy.
“I don’t need either, thanks. I never feel hungry on a journey.”
“Have the baskets, Lawrie,” said Gwen. “Then you are not tied to any time, and you don’t have the bother of going to the restaurant car.”