She took his arm and brought him back to a motor standing at the theatre entrance.
“Oh, mamma, I have had such a race,” she cried excitedly, “and I have captured him. Barry, my mother.”
Barry took the offered hand, and gazed earnestly into the sad brown eyes that searched his in return.
“And here's your friend,” said Phyllis.
“Hello, Pilot,” said a voice from a dark corner of the car.
“What, Neil! Oh, you boy,” he cried in an ecstasy, pushing both hands at him. “You dear old boy. How is the arm, eh? all right?”
“Oh! doing awfully well,” said Captain Neil. “And you?”
“Oh, never so well in all my life,” cried Barry. “Yet, to think of it, ten minutes ago, or when was it, I was in there a miserably homesick creature, envious of all the happy people about me, and now—”
While he was speaking, his eyes were on Mrs. Vincent's face, but his hand was holding fast to her daughter's arm. “Now it's a lovely old town, and full of dear people.”
“Where are you putting up?” asked Mrs. Vincent.