“I won’t come—unless you promise to behave,” said Jean warningly.
Bubbling over with pleasure at the prospect unfolded by the invitation, she found it a little difficult to infuse a befitting sternness into her tones.
“Do I need to take fresh vows?” came back Burke’s answer, spoken rather gravely. “I made you a promise that day—when we drove back from Dartmoor. I’ll keep that.”
“I’ll never hiss you again till you give me your lips yourself.”
The words of the promise rushed vividly into Jean’s mind, and now that steady voice through the ’phone, uttering its quiet endorsement of the assurance given, made her feel suddenly ashamed of her suspicions.
“Very well, I’ll come then,” she said hastily. “How shall I get to you?”
“It’s all planned, because we thought—at least we hoped—you’d come. If you’ll come down to Okehampton by the three o’clock train from Coombe Eavie, I’ll meet you there with the car and drive you up to the bungalow. Judy is going to drive into Newton Abbot early, to do some marketing, and afterwards she’ll lunch with her London people—the Holfords. Then they’ll all come up together in the afternoon.”
“I see. Very well. I’ll come to Okehampton by the three train to-morrow afternoon”—repeating his instructions carefully.
“Right. That’s all fixed, then.”
“Quite. Mind you also fix a fine day—or night, rather! Good-bye.”