“It would really be safer to take it in the afternoon,” Cecilia said after a moment's thought. “Mrs. Rainham's absence will make that quite easy, for I know I can depend upon Eliza and Cook. I can get my trunks ready, leave them in my room, and tell Eliza you will be there to call for them, say, at four o'clock. Then I take the three children out for a walk, and when we return everything is gone. Will that do?”
“Perfectly,” said Bob, laughing. “And four o'clock suits me all right. Then you'll saunter out on Friday morning with an inoffensive brown paper parcel containing the rest of your worldly effects, and meet me for lunch at the Euston Hotel. Is that clear?”
“Quite. I suppose I had better put no address on my trunks?”
“Not a line—I'll see to that. And don't even mention the word 'Australia' this week, just in case your eye dances unconsciously, and sets people thinking! I think you'd better cultivate a downtrodden look, at any rate until Mrs Rainham is out of the house; at present you look far too cheerful to be natural—doesn't she, sir?”
“You have to see to it that she does not look downtrodden again, after this week,” said Mr. M'Clinton. “Remember that, Captain—she's going a long way, and she'll have no one but you.”
“I know, sir. But, bless you, it's me that will look downtrodden,” said Bob with a grin. “She bullies me horribly—always did.” He slipped his hand through her arm, and they looked up at him with such radiant faces that the old man smiled involuntarily.
“Ah, I think you'll be all right,” he said. “Remember, Miss Tommy, I'll expect to hear from you—fairly often, too. I shall not say good-bye now—you'll see me on Friday at luncheon.”
They found themselves down in the grey precincts of Lincoln's Inn, which, it may be, had rarely seen two young things prancing along so dementedly. In the street they had to sober down, to outward seeming; but there was still something about them, as they hurried off to find a teashop to discuss final details, that made people turn to look at them. Even the waitress beamed on them, and supplied them with her best cakes—and London waitresses are a bored race. But at the moment, neither Cecilia nor Bob could have told you whether they were eating cakes or sausages.
“The money is all right,” Bob said. “It'll be available at a Melbourne bank when we get there; and meanwhile, there's plenty of ready money, with what I've saved and my war gratuity. So if you want anything, Tommy, you just say so, and don't go without any pretties just because you think we'll be in the workhouse.”
“Bless you—but I don't really need anything,” she told him gratefully. “It would be nice to have a little money to spend at the ports, but I think we ought to keep the rest for Australia, don't you, Bob?”