"Stop it!" Isobel commanded sharply. "Stop it at once. I won't have that poor little man sneered at. I think he's a dear, so there."
"Cupboard love," Allen retorted, wiping his streaming eyes. "He hasn't given me a million pounds for the Red Cross and he hasn't asked me to dinner, so I'm free to laugh if I want to. Those clothes ... and that furniture ...! If I'd caught your eye again I should have had a fit."
Isobel laughed a little herself.
"Who can he be?" she asked. "It's rather dreadful that a common little uneducated Cockney like that should have all that money, isn't it? And did you see his friend, who bolted when we arrived?"
"Yes—a shy bird in gorgeous plumage. D'you know, I'm sure I've seen that chap Wentworth somewhere before, or some one just like him."
"That's funny. I felt just the same. Who can it be?"
"Wait a bit—it's coming to me. Why, of course, I've got it. If he had a mustache, he'd be the living image of a silly ass in my platoon, Higgins by name, and so.... I say, what's the matter?"
The car gave a violent double lurch as Isobel momentarily seemed to lose control of the steering-wheel. Luckily they were traveling very slowly. Allen leant across her and stopped the car.
"Iso," he said, unconsciously using the affectionate abbreviation for the first time, "whatever's the matter? Are you ill? You're as white as a ghost."