"Of course I am going, auntie, if you are walking that way and want company."
It was the kind of day on which only hat and gloves are needed for outdoor toilette; and Suzette's neat little hat was ready for her in the hall. They all three went off to the links together, along the dusty road and through the busy little village—busy just for one morning hour—and to the common beyond, the long stretch of common that skirted the high-road, and which everybody declared to have been created on purpose for golf.
Mrs. Mornington talked about Allan nearly all the way—her regret that he had extended his travels, regret felt mostly on his mother's account.
"I think he always meant to cross from sea to sea," Geoffrey answered carelessly. "His mother ought to have been prepared for that. He read Trivier's book, and that inspired him. And really crossing Africa means very little nowadays. One's people at home needn't worry about it."
"Mr. Patrington did not find it so easy."
"Poor Patrington! No; he was unlucky. There is no reckoning with fever. That is the worst enemy."
"Did you bring home a letter for Lady Emily?"
"No. Allan wrote from Ujiji. That letter would reach England much quicker than I could."
"But you will go to see her, I dare say. No doubt it would be a comfort to her to talk to you about her son—to hear all those details which letters so seldom give."
"I will go if she ask me. Suzette has written to tell her of my return."