He ventured further. “Do you remember the last time we were alone in a small space between four walls at this hour!”
She put the paper down suddenly, and looked straight into his eyes. “You are not playing fair,” she said.
He sat up quickly, and drew his hand across his face, and then said quite simply: “You are right. I apologise.”
Paddy was instantly mollified, and he saw it, and took the opportunity to get up and rearrange her rug.
“It is all right,” she urged, but he only smiled, and persisted in tucking her up more cozily. Once again Paddy had that fleeting sense of the satisfaction of masculine protection, and looked a little wistfully down at her book.
“If I promise to play fair, will you talk?” he asked. “It is so tiring to read.”
She could not but agree with him, and they spent the rest of the journey talking about Lawrence’s travels, and the wonders of far-off lands. When he would take the trouble he was a delightful conversationalist, and Paddy gave an exclamation of astonishment when she found they were nearing Holyhead.
Lawrence smiled inwardly, but was far too clever to mar his momentary triumph by seeming to notice it, and they remained good friends until the train steamed into Omeath station.
Paddy, of course, was hanging out of the window, watching for each familiar landmark, but when the train drew up, she uttered an exclamation of such boundless amazement, incredulity, and delight mingled, that Lawrence was quite startled.
Coming running down the platform was Jack O’Hara.