She did not expect to enjoy herself by accompanying Chris. She hated Mrs. Heriot, and she knew she would feel out of everything and unwanted, but—and she knew this had been the determining factor—she would see Feathers.
She wore her prettiest frock on Sunday, and turned a deaf ear to Mrs. Chester's lamentations that it would be ruined.
"The roads are so dusty—wear something that can't be spoilt, my dear child."
"I'll take a cloak," Marie said.
She was conscious of a little feeling of nervousness as she drove away with Chris.
"I'm going to pick Feathers up at his rooms," he said. "He's got rooms in Albany Street, you know."
"Yes, he told me."
Her heart was beating fast as they drew up at the house, and she kept her eyes steadily before her as Chris left the car and rang the door bell violently.
It was opened by Feathers himself, ready to start and with his golf bag slung over his shoulder.
"Ten minutes late, you miserable blighter," he began, then stopped, and his face seemed to tighten as he looked at Marie. "How do you do, Mrs. Lawless?" He went forward and shook hands with her formally. "This is a pleasant surprise," he said quietly.