“Now, what about to-morrow?” said Captain Neil briskly, as Mrs. Vincent rose from the table. “We must settle that. What about it, Barry?”
“I don't know. Do you think I should go? It's your party and it's already made up.”
“Not quite,” said Phyllis, looking shyly at him. “You belong to the party more than any of us, you know.”
“Then what about Paula?” said Barry. “This is her party, is it not?”
Phyllis was silent.
“I think, Captain Dunbar,” said Mrs. Vincent, “if you would like it, you ought to go. You need something of the kind, and you will fit in admirably with the party, I am quite sure. To-day,” she added with a little laugh, “I was doubtful as to the propriety of these young people going off all the way to Edinburgh by themselves, but you know in these war times we do extraordinary things, but now if you join them, my scruples will be removed.”
“Some chaperon,” whispered Captain Neil audibly to Phyllis. Then he added briskly, “Well, then, that's settled. To-morrow at 8:37 we meet at King's Cross, 8:37, remember.”
But for Barry the matter was far from settled.
“I can't quite make up my mind to-night,” he said. “I shall be at King's Cross, however, in the morning at any rate.”
“But, Barry,” began Phyllis, protesting, “you must—I want—”