She slipped it in her pocket.
"Hi! McTaggart!" Bethune from afar was waving to them. "Time we were off!" He shouted the warning as they hastened toward him where he stood with Roddy, still breathless from the swings.
"It's awfully late..." he added apologetically. "I'm sorry to rush you—but I think we'd better start."
They made for the Inn, Bethune by his friend, Roddy hanging onto his sister's arm.
"We'll have to go slow when we get to Hounslow—those beastly trams spoil the run. Here we are!" He babbled on—"now, bundle in..."
But Jill checked her brother, with one foot on the step. "I think I'd rather like to ride in front. D'you mind, Mr. Bethune?" She smiled up at him.
"Mind? I should think not." The man looked pleased, but McTaggart's face fell at the words.
"Going to desert me? You little turn-coat!—After that lovely fairing too."
But Jill was settling herself beside the driver.
"Rather rough on Roddy!" was all she said.