"Where have you been?" Chris demanded. "We're just off, you old rotter."
"I didn't know it was so late." He looked at Marie. "I hope you'll have a pleasant journey back," he said. The words sounded absurdly formal and unlike him, and the girl's face flushed in faint perplexity.
"Thank you, I hope we shall."
There was a taxi at the door, piled with luggage; Mrs. Heriot was close by, dressed in a very smart tweed costume, and with her golf clubs slung over her shoulder.
She looked at Chris commiseratingly.
"You poor dear, going back to smoky old London! Don't you wish you were coming out on the downs with me?"
106 Chris laughed, and held out his hand.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Heriot. Good-bye and—what do people say?—until our next merry meeting!"
She shook hands with Marie.
"Good-bye, you dear thing, and I'm so glad you're so much better."