She gave me a little wave of her hand, and set off at a brisk pace across the hill. Her coolness left me flabbergasted.
Lady Baradell, who had been looking at me with a kind of malicious amusement, smiled mockingly.
"What a popular man you are, Mr. Northcote," she observed. "You can't get away from your friends, even in Suffolk."
"No," I said. "The country seems to be sown with them. Next time I want a little seclusion, I shall stop in London."
"Pretty girl, that," said York, looking approvingly after Mercia's retreating figure.
I was not going to be drawn into any further confidence.
"Suppose I motor you on to the Cuthberts'?" I suggested. "I'll promise to drive carefully."
"That's a sound idea," answered York, with enthusiasm.
"Well, it must be very carefully," said Lady Baradell. "You fortunate men aren't bothered with clothes and hair. I don't want to arrive looking like a suffragette after a fight with a policeman."
It was so impossible to conceive Lady Baradell in such a condition that we both laughed.