“Wait. And my head hurt. And I was frightened to death. And I prayed like fury. Naps! Where’s Naps? I missed you. And when I wanted to yell all I could let out was a miow. And Mrs. Storm—well, Iris, as she saved my life, cries out: ‘Oi, what’s that? Who? Where?’ And before you could say knife, and just as I was succumbing to a watery grave, she was saving my life, quick as you like. Quick, terse stuff. She could swim all of us off our feet, she could....”
“Get very easily tired,” Iris said.
“Iris!” Napier’s voice, sharp. “You dressed? What? Risky for you, messing about, after your illness.”
“I’m almost ready, Napier.” Impatient, Iris’s voice was, I thought.
“Naps, get a rug from the car. She’s shivering.”
“Please!” Iris whispered, frantically, desperately. “For pity’s sake, please not!”
Silence....
As we collected round the two motor-cars, Guy, fiddling about with his starting-arrangements, seemed, I thought, to be saying something. But he was only swearing.
At the back of the Hispano Iris went to sleep against my shoulder. She spoke in her sleep: “You will find me quite light on you, as I haven’t got a chemise. They say it is very smart, to be chemiseless. Already I feel less of an outlaw from society. She did it on purpose.”
“Iris!”