"H'are you?" said Bobby, as they shook hands.
"Hot," said Julia.
"Isn't it?"
He carried the hold-all to the fly and a porter followed with a basket-work portmanteau. When the luggage was stowed in they got in and the fly moved off.
Julia was not in a passionate mood; no person is or ever has been after a journey on the London and Wessex and South Coast Railway—unless it is a mood of passion against the railway. She seemed, indeed, disgruntled and critical, and a tone of complaint in her voice cheered up Bobby.
"I know it's an awful old fly," said he, "but it's the best they had; the hotel motor-car is broken down or something."
"Why didn't you wire me that day," said She, "that you were going off so soon? I only got your wire from here next morning. You promised to meet me and you never turned up. I went to the Albany to see if you were in, and I saw Mr. Tozer. He said you had gone off with half a dozen people in a car——"
"Only four, not including me," cut in Bobby.
"Two ladies——"