"The Right Honourable Lady," chanted the graceless Timothy, "then resumed her seat amid applause, having spoken for an hour and fifty minutes. Very well, I will leave you. I shall go and hold Brand's hand in the garage. He loves me, anyhow. Hallo! I say—"
Miss Jennings's serene countenance had flushed crimson.
"Have I said anything to offend you?" asked Tim, in some concern. "I am awfully sorry if I have. I was only rotting, you know. I had no idea Brand was a friend of yours."
Miss Jennings, recovering herself quickly, replied with some asperity that he was no such thing, and again announced that she had some work to do and that the conversation would now terminate.
But it did not. There was a magnetism about Tim which invited confidences.
"I say, Philip, old son," remarked Tim, as they walked down Piccadilly the following Sunday afternoon, "are you aware that our office has become a home of romance?"
Philip did not reply. His thoughts for the moment were centred upon more absorbing business. Presently he said:—
"I think I shall take a long run to-morrow and give it a proper trial on one or two really bad hills, and then go down to Coventry and see Bilston again."
Tim sighed gently, and replied:—