Major Stroud had rung them up almost daily, and Noel had found it difficult to account to the family for the sudden interest taken in him by some one they had never heard of before. For it was a household in which reticence was frowned upon and discouraged. Only Gordon, being the eldest son, was permitted to go and come without explanations. He was naturally secretive, and on the few occasions when he was pleased to give an account of his doings, his mother listened to him with something very like reverence. So Major Stroud became “a fellow at my club,” which, as it chanced, he was, and Millicent gave up the attempt to penetrate further.
Judy had never felt as shy as on that Wednesday afternoon in the middle of January. She and Noel rode up Campden Hill on a bus, and walked briskly, for it was a bitter day, from Church Street to Chip’s rooms.
On the way up the stairs she said:
“Don’t leave me to do all the talking, Noel. I feel idiotically nervous. I don’t know what to talk about.”
“Chuck maidenly modesty to the winds for once,” he advised, “and talk about the weather.”
“You’re not very helpful.”
“And when you’ve done with the weather, there’s always the climate.”
“Thank you.”
“What I mean is, why not just be natural? I expect he’s safely unmarriageable, from the money point of view. So you can let the barbed wire alone.”
“Anyhow,” she said thankfully, “Major Stroud will be there, and he’s always noisy and cheerful.”