"You are sure you have the address right?" she asked. "Humphrey, fancy if you lost it and could never find us again after we said good-bye to-day! Wouldn't it be awful?"
"Awful!"
"Such a thing might happen," she declared. "You try and try your hardest to remember where we told you we lived, but you can't. It is terrible! You go mad——"
"Or to a post-office," he said.
She laughed gaily.
"How could you write to me when you'd forgotten the address? You foolish fellow! There, I was brighter than you that time."
He felt it would be prolix to explain that he was thinking of a directory, and not of stamps.
"Come, after that, I must really hear if you've learnt your lesson! What is it? Quick!"
"You live in a house called The Hawthorns," he said—"one of the houses. You would have called it The Cedars, only that was the name of the house next door. I take the train to Streatham Hill—I must be very particular to say 'Hill,' or catastrophes will happen. To begin with, I shall lose an hour of your society——"
"And dinner—dinner will certainly be over!"