The flapper had scrambled up the front staircase against the rules. She cast herself down beside Macclesfield.
"Here I am, old dear," she exclaimed. "I left York simply jammed in the wedge. Oh, isn't it fun? I never laughed so much. We never can be serious with each other after this, can we?"
St. Ives nodded.
"I'll never forget Pontresina climbing the rail," she said. "I used to think him so haughty; now—"
"Albemarle Road—don't you want Albemarle Road?" the conductress was asking me. She spoke very loudly.
"Pontresina—I'm Pontresina," I answered.
"This is Albemarle Road. If you're going on it'll be another penny," she insisted.
I rose in bewilderment.
St. Ives was looking at me while she knitted. I raised my hat to her and smiled. We had been such good friends all the evening—how could I ever forget it? But she did not smile; she only stared. She seemed to think I was mad. Macclesfield was reading his Star just as if he had never hurled himself on to the top of the 'bus. The flapper was squinting at herself in a little pocket-mirror; she looked contemptuously at me as I passed. Old York was half asleep. One would think they had never been rushing about in that frantic General Post. And we were all inside the car again.
It was odd!