“Deucedly pretty Annette has grown, eh?” said Stillwell.
“Annette's all right,” said Jack, rather brusquely, entering his car.
“Working in your box factory, I understand, eh?”
“Don't really know,” said Jack carelessly. “Probably.”
The crowd had meantime faded away with Captain Jack's going.
“Did na know the Captain was a friend of yours, Annette,” said Mack, falling into step beside her.
“No—yes—I don't know. We went to Public School together before the war. I was a kid then.” Her manner was abstracted and her eyes were far away. Mack walked gloomily by her on one side, little Steve on the other.
“Huh! He's no your sort, A doot,” he said sullenly.
“What do you say?” cried Annette, returning from her abstraction. “What do you mean, 'my sort'?” Her head went high and her eyes flashed.
“He would na look at ye, for ony guid.”