“Oh, certainly,” and a kindly hand fell on his shoulder. “I am glad you spoke of it. Mrs. Bolland is worthy of all the respect due to the best of mothers.”
“I’ll go with you, Martin,” announced Angèle suddenly.
Martin hesitated. He was doubtful of the reception Mrs. Bolland might give the minx who had nearly caused him to break his neck, and, for his own part, he wanted to avoid Angèle altogether. She was a disturbing influence. He feared her not at all as a spitfire. It was when she displayed her most engaging qualities that she was really dangerous, and he knew from experience that her mood had changed within the past five minutes. On alighting from the car she would like to have scratched his face. Now he would not be surprised if she elected to walk with him hand in hand through the village street.
His father came to the rescue.
“Let us all go and see Mrs. Bolland,” he said. “It is only a few yards.”
They went out into the roadway. Then Beckett-Smythe was struck by an afterthought.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run along to the vicarage and ask Herbert and his daughter to join us,” he said.
Mrs. Saumarez bit her lip.
“I think I’ll leave Angèle at home,” she said in a low tone. “The child is delicate. During the past week I have insisted that she goes to bed at eight every evening.”
Colonel Grant understood why the lady did not want the two girls to meet, but it was borne in on him that she herself was determined not to miss that impromptu dinner party. In a vague way he wondered what her motive could be.