“Is it—are we to sail soon?”
“Next Saturday—and this is Monday. Can you manage it, Tommy?” Bob's eyes were dancing with excitement.
“Oh, Bobby—truly?” She caught at his coat sleeve. “When did you hear?”
“I had a wire from General Harran this morning. A jolly good ship, too, Tommy; one of the big Australian liners—the Nauru. You're all ready, aren't you?”
“Oh, yes. And there's the most tremendous piece of luck, Bobby—Mrs. Rainham's going away on Wednesday!”
“Going away! How more than tactful!” ejaculated Bob. “Where is she going?”
“To Liverpool.”
“Liverpool? Oh, by Jove!” Bob ended on a low whistle, while his face assumed a comical expression of dismay. He turned to the lawyer. “Did you ever hear of anything so queer?”
“Queer? Why?” demanded Cecilia.
“Well, it looks as if she wanted to see the last of you, that's all. The Nauru sails from Liverpool.”