For Jill's letter with the news of Roddy's return—the school having broken up through a sudden epidemic—had suggested this outing in Bethune's car on one of his rare Saturdays of holiday. They had gone to see the Cambridge crew practice for the boat race and lunched at Henley, a merry quartette.
Jill's letter!—McTaggart's mind swung off at a tangent. He felt a new-born gratitude to his schoolgirl friend. Had it not been for this and Fantine's want of tact—(he could see her now holding the letter to her breast)—he must have stumbled headlong into the trap.
He felt again heart-sore at the betrayal.
"We're getting nearer," said Jill. "I don't think it's a band."
The car swerved round a bend and lights flashed out, pale in the twilight like glow-worms on the green.
"Oh, Peter—look!" Jill clapped her hands. "It's a Village Fair—how lovely!—with merry-go-rounds!"
"So it is." Peter smiled as Roddy twisted round, his boy's face alight, with an eager request.
"Can't we stop, Peter?—and have one turn ... My hat! there's a cocoanut shy! Oh, do pull up..."
McTaggart leaned forward and consulted the driver. "Have you time, old man? These kids are awfully keen."
"Rather," Bethune laughed good-naturedly. "We'll run the car first into the Inn yard. Can't leave it here—the road's too narrow."