“It’s very good of you,” Amory murmured awkwardly.
“Nothing of the sort. Stan loves to manage them—it keeps his hand in for managing me, he says.... Now, I don’t want to hurry you, but you’d better be off if you’re going to get as far as Liverpool to-night. Good-bye, dear——”
“Good-bye, Dorothy——”
“So long, Pratt—up with those bags, Tim——”
“Good-bye, Bonnie——”
“Corin! Corin!—(Hm! See if I don’t have you in hand in another week or two, my boy!)—Come and say good-bye to your father.”
“Good-bye, Lady Tasker——”
“All right?”
The wheels crunched; hands were waved; the rabble gave a shockingly undisciplined cheer; and young Arthur Woodgate, who had run along the terrace and stood holding the gate at the end open, saluted. Stan took out his watch again.