He raised his eyebrows slightly.
"I shall be very busy this afternoon, dear."
"I think the works will stand your absence for one afternoon," she remarked quietly, and he bit his lip.
"I'll be there, Marjorie." He fumbled with her rug. "One o'clock sharp, I suppose."
He stood back, and the cars rolled off.
"What a charming man your fiancé is, my dear!" cooed the elderly female sitting beside Marjorie. "So polite: so ... so ... impressive."
The girl smiled a little absently, and nodded. "Impressive...." It struck her that the word exactly described Herbert. He was impressive. And then because she was loyal clean through, she started to fan herself into a furious rage at the abominable impertinence of this wretched man John Morrison. Herbert was right: he was an insubordinate swine.... How dare he—how dare he—hand her such a note! He ought to be sacked at once. She would tell Herbert about it after lunch, and he would explain matters. Of course he would explain—of course....
John Frenton was standing on the steps as the cars drove up, and impulsively she went up to him.
"Herbert is coming to lunch, daddy," she cried, putting her arm through his.
"Is he, darling," said the old man, patting her hand. "That's all right." He turned to the rest of the party as they came up. "Well—what do you think of my works? None in England to beat 'em, my friends, not if you search from John o' Groats to Land's End. And as for a strike, it's unknown, sir, unknown.... My men don't do it, whatever other firms may do."