As he changed he heard the visitors being admitted, and then Norah came tumbling up the stairs and thumped at his door.
"They're in the draaing-room, sir!"
"All right," said Mr. French. "I'll be down in a minute."
Mr. Dashwood and his companion had breakfasted together at the inn. The double Freemasonry of youth and health had made the meal a happy affair, despite the teapot with a broken spout, the bad, sad, salt bacon, and the tea that tasted like a decoction of mahogany shavings.
It was Miss Grimshaw who proposed that, as Mr. Dashwood was going to see his friend, and as she was bound on the same errand, they might use the same car.
Moriarty, who was consulted, consented with alacrity.
"He's not turned up yet, miss," said Moriarty, as he held the horse while Miss Grimshaw got on the car.
"I wonder what's become of him?" said the girl, settling the rug on her knees.
"Faith, and I expect he's wonderin' that himself," said Moriarty, taking the reins; "unless he's tuck a short cut across the country and landed in a bog-hole." All of which was Greek to Mr. Dashwood.