They turned more slowly into dimly lighted roads, and the trees of Regent's Park came into sight.
Jill was giving directions now to Bethune. "It's the turning before Primrose Hill," McTaggart heard her say.
Then the car slackened, mounted the slight hill and they were in front of the terrace of gloomy little houses.
Stiff and pleasantly tired, they stepped down on the pavement, Bethune's strong arm for a moment supporting Jill.
Hurried adieux and thanks and the pair were off again, McTaggart now in the corner, still warm, where the girl had sat beside the driver on the long ride home.
A sudden silence had fallen between them, each engrossed in his own train of thought.
Bethune broke it first.
"Shall I drop you at the Club? I've got to take the car home—it's on our way."
"Thanks." McTaggart roused himself. "Can't you come back and dine with me?—or we'll have a grill somewhere—if you prefer it?"
"Sorry—I can't. I've promised to meet a man—it's a business matter. Otherwise I would."