“Of course,” put in that young lady, “there always is. Please do not waste precious time talking. Tell me where I am to sit, Christopher.”
“I’ll take every care of her,” said Christopher, looking at Renata, “we’ll be back in time for dinner. Be kind and get rid of Mr. Masters by then.”
“Like a dear little angel,” concluded Patricia, kissing her; “think how he bores Nevil, and don’t be hospitable.”
Christopher settled her in the seat beside him, tucked her in with rugs, put up the front screen and started.
For a few short minutes the joy of having her there beside him, his sole charge for some golden hours to come, his to carry in a mad rush if he would to the ends of the earth, obliterated for a moment the bewildering mist.
He drove for some way in silence. Patricia was too much absorbed in the pleasures of swift motion to talk. Her first words, however, shut down the mists on him again.
“Geoffry must have a car,” she declared. “He must get one just like this.”
“I thought Geoffry was to be left behind this afternoon?”
“Oh, I suppose he was. I don’t believe you are a bit pleased about it really, Christopher.”
He clutched at the truth as a plank of safety.