"Give her these, please, and say I'll come again. I'm so glad she's getting on. Thank you—good-bye."
McTaggart was amused at the lack of gratitude. For the woman took the offering without another word. He guessed shrewdly that the sight of the car—the outward sign of luxury—had roused the deep slumbering resentment of the poor, their latent fear of being patronized.
"Charming old lady," he suggested. But Jill seemed unconscious of the slight.
"That's her Aunt," she informed him with a sigh, spelling relief at a duty done. "She's come from Stratford to look after her. So now we can have a lovely drive."
She turned a smiling face toward him, cheeks rosy with the air, keen and crisp, of the winter day, and drew the shabby fur tighter round her throat as the car backed slowly out of the narrow road.
"Where are we going?"
"That's for you to decide. But I think through Hampstead, now we've come this way. Sure you're warm enough? I put in my other coat—so burrow into that if the wind gets keen."
He turned the car up the long hilly road leading to Swiss Cottage and leaned back easily.
"How's school going?" He smiled at her with pride. She looked so pretty with her childish, flushed cheeks.
"College, d'you mean?" Jill corrected him. "Nothing exciting since the row over ancient history. I'm working rather hard for the Exams now."