"It'ld be so dreadfully exciting to be held up."
"It's on my way home anyway, Betty." Nan took the girl's arm and pulled her with her across the street.
The two men followed them up a street of apartment houses where patches of lighted windows made a yellow blur in the fog above their heads. Before the word Swarthcote on a glass door they stopped.
"Good night all," said Betty Thomas. "Thank you, deary, for the lovely supper and everything."
The door closed behind her. With Nan in the middle the three of them walked on.
"How cosy it is this way in the fog?" she said.
"It makes me feel wonderfully sentimental," Wenny said slowly. "Wagner makes me feel sentimental anyway, but Wagner plus fog ... like sitting on the curbstone and letting great warm tears flow down my cheeks till the gutter simply gurgled with them."
"I say," said Fanshaw.
"Not a bit of it," broke in Nan. "I feel jolly, like roasting apples in front of an open fire. We're so secure all three of us together this way and the world drifting by, dinner at Aunt M.'s and tomato bisque and croutons and love and hate and all that outside drifting by like fog."
"Harmless you mean, Nan. I shouldn't say so.... Do you think its harmless, Wenny?"