M'Clinton. "Remember that, Captain--she's going a
long way, and she'll have no one but you."
"I know, sir. But, bless you, it's me that will look downtrodden," said
Bob with a grin. "She bullies me horribly--always did." He slipped his
hand through her arm, and they looked up at him with such radiant faces
that the old man smiled involuntarily.
"Ah, I think you'll be all right," he said. "Remember, Miss Tommy, I'll
expect to hear from you--fairly often, too. I shall not say good-bye
now--you'll see me on Friday at luncheon."
They found themselves down in the grey precincts of Lincoln's Inn,
which, it may be, had rarely seen two young things prancing along so
dementedly. In the street they had to sober down, to outward seeming;
but there was still something about them, as they hurried off to find a
teashop to discuss final details, that made people turn to look at
them. Even the waitress beamed on them, and supplied them with her
best cakes--and London waitresses are a bored race. But at the moment,
neither Cecilia nor Bob could have told you whether they were eating
cakes or sausages.
"The money is all right," Bob said. "It'll be available at a Melbourne
bank when we get there; and meanwhile, there's plenty of ready money,
with what I've saved and my war gratuity. So if you want anything,
Tommy, you just say so, and don't go without any pretties just because
you think we'll be in the workhouse.
Pages:
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99