“Unbeliever! Come and look at the clock. And, incidentally, give me that suit-case.”
She yielded up the case obediently and, having verified the time, proceeded towards the platform at a more reasonable gait.
Storran, his long legs leisurely keeping pace with her shorter ones, smiled down at her.
“And now, for the second time of asking, where are you off to?”
“I’m going to France—to fetch Michael.”
He gave a quick exclamation—whether of surprise or disapproval she was not quite sure.
“You haven’t heard from him, then?”
“No. And unless something happens quick, it will be too late.”
“But if he were at his studio he would surely have answered Lady Arabella’s letter.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” replied Gillian absently, her eyes following the queue of passengers passing through the gate on the platform. By mutual consent they had come to a standstill outside it.