"I don't know. At least," I added, looking at my watch, "I do know. I shall be horribly late. Good-bye."
I fled down the stairs into the street, waved to Myra at the window ... and then came cautiously up again for my pipe. Life is very difficult on the mornings when you are in a hurry.
At dinner that night Myra could hardly eat for excitement.
"You'll be sorry afterwards," I warned her, "when it turns out to be nothing more than that he has had his hair cut."
"But even if it is I don't see why I shouldn't be excited at seeing my only brother again—not to mention sister-in-law."
"You only want to see them so that you can talk about Peter."
"Oh, Fatty, darling"—(I am really quite thin)—"oh, Fatty," cried Myra—("lean and slender" would perhaps describe it better)—cried Myra, clasping her hands together—(in fact the very last person you could call stout)—"I haven't seen the darling for ages! But I shall see Samuel," she added hopefully, "and he's almost as young." ("Svelte"—that's the word for me.)
"Then let's move," I said. "They'll be here directly."
Archie and Dahlia came first. We besieged them with questions as soon as they appeared.
"Haven't an idea," said Archie. "I wanted to bring a revolver in case it was anything really desperate, but Dahlia wouldn't let me."