Armed with her inevitable box of sweets, Courtesy set forth on her romance.
“Ripping woods,” she said, as the sun winked through the delicate lace of the forest.
“Ripping,” agreed Mr. Wise. “But full of ticks.”
Courtesy suffered that beautiful shock that attacks a woman when she first realises that the man by her side is an uncommon person, and that he holds the same view about herself. She offered him a chocolate cream.
They went to Park View by the longest way possible, but I think the nearest approach to romance that they reached was when Courtesy said, “Oh, Lor’, I am enjoying myself!”
And Mr. Wise replied, “So am I. I hope you’ll come again.”
When they reached Park View they were neither of them observant enough to notice the forsaken look of the house.
“I’ll just go and tackle that funny little suffragette,” said Courtesy. “I won’t be half a mo.”
She looked back and smiled at him as she climbed the drive.
“Dey all gone, missis,” said John, who was sitting in the hall, reading the letters out of the waste-paper basket.