"Well, I'll go," he said slowly. "Best take William, though."
He went off in search of his man.
But Bolitho need not trouble. Half an hour later Maggie returned, stood in the sitting-room looking about her, took off her jacket and hat, then, pursuing her own thoughts, slowly put them on. She was then about to leave the room when the door burst open and Martin tumbled in. He stood at the doorway staring at her, his mouth open. "Why!" he stammered. "I thought ... I thought ... you were out—" She looked at him crossly.
"You shouldn't have gone out—an afternoon like this. If I'd been here—"
"Well, you weren't. You shouldn't have gone out either for the matter of that. And I was at the circus—a damned poor one too. Your things are soaking," he added, suddenly looking up at her. "You talk about me. You'd better go and change."
"I'm going out again," she said.
"Out again?"
"Yes ... There's a train at Clinton at seven. I'm catching that."
"A train?" He stared at her, completely bewildered.
"Yes. That's what I went out to get my head clear about. Martin, you've beaten me. After all these years you have. After all my fine speeches, too."