"Oh, the dentist. I see. I thought only old ladies had bridges."
"Well, you see, the silly thing he put in the last time doesn't hold. I'm always picking it out of bits of toffee. I lost a lot of side teeth when Flight fell with me at a post-and-rails last winter. I had a face like a turnip. So it had to be a bridge, he says."
"A misnomer, Flight."
"In one way. Not in another. He was nearly at the other end of Kent before they caught him."
"Where are you going now? Can I give you a lift anywhere?"
"I suppose you wouldn't like to show me Scotland Yard?"
"I would. Very much. But in twenty minutes I have an appointment with a lawyer in the Temple."
"Oh. In that case perhaps you would drop me in Cockspur Street. I have an errand to do for Nannie."
Yes, he thought, as she inserted herself beside him, it would be a Nannie. No mother had chosen those clothes. They were ordered from the tailor just as her school clothes had been. "One gray flannel suit and hat to match." In spite of her independence and her sureness of spirit, there was something forlorn about her, he felt.
"This is nice," she said. "They're not very high, but I hate walking in them."