“These motor bicycles—very difficult to control,” said Captain Douglas, and all the little golden-white hairs upon his sunlit cheek glittered in the sun.
“And besides,” said Mrs. Bowles, “it’s all nonsense.”
The Professor was in a state of arrested administration; the three others were frankly audience to a clearly understood scene.
“You ought to be in France.”
“I’m not in France.”
“I sent you into exile for a month,” and she held out a hand for the captain to kiss.
He kissed it.
Someday, somewhere, it was written in the book of destiny Bealby should also kiss hands. It was a lovely thing to do.
“Month! It’s been years,” said the captain. “Years and years.”
“Then you ought to have come back before,” she replied and the captain had no answer ready....