Somewhat as Lady Sellingworth had thought of Seymour Portman, Beryl Van Tuyn thought of Craven, who would certainly not have enjoyed knowledge of it.
When they had scrambled down to the road, and saw the bright eyes of the car staring at them from the edge of the marshes, she dropped his arm.
“How Adela Sellingworth would have enjoyed all this if she had been here to-day instead of me!” she said.
“Lady Sellingworth!” said Craven, as if startled. “What made you think of her just then?”
“I don’t know. Stop a moment!”
She stood very still.
“I believe she has come back to London,” she said. “Perhaps she sent the thought to me from Berkeley Square. How long has she been away?”
“About five weeks, I should think.”
“Would you be glad if she were back?”
“It would make very little difference to me,” he said in a casual voice. “Now put on your coat.”