The schoolboy laughed. He produced a bag, brimming over with highly coloured sweets.
"Have a suck?" he said, and diving into it drew out a sugar stick, striped pink and yellow.
"Thanks—no. Not just now." McTaggart's face was eloquent.
"All right," said Roddy with happy unconcern. "You just tell me when you feel like it."
The car trundled out between the narrow posts, and, avoiding the crowd, turned to the right; then, as the road, devoid of life, stretched straight ahead, took on speed.
The noisy music faded away into darkness and silence and the rustling breeze. McTaggart drowsily closed his eyes, as the stars began to peer out of the heavens. His head sank lower, his thoughts became involved ... Then with a flash he came back to life. Awoke to find the lamps glowing about him, the hum of the traffic, the busy London streets, and, against the light, Bethune's broad back and the girl's clear profile like a silhouette.
Jill was chattering, plainly absorbed.
Every now and then, her companion would lean to catch a sentence broken by the wind, and a laugh would float back with the hearty ring that seemed a part of the man's honest nature.
McTaggart watched them in a moody silence, still slightly piqued by Jill's desertion.
Roddy, surfeited, with a nearly empty bag, was rolled up in the corner like a happy dormouse.