Part 62 (1/2)
He stood looking at her--between vexation and amus.e.m.e.nt, and another sensation less easily defined.
”Well, I must be off,” he said at last.
He got no answer.
”Good-bye, Alwynne. Pleasant journey.”
Alwynne turned in a flash.
”Good-bye? Aren't you coming to see me off?” she demanded blankly.
He hesitated, looking back at her from the open window, one foot already on the terrace.
”I'm awfully busy. It's market-day, you know--and the new stuff's coming in. The Dears will see you off.”
”Oh, all right.” Alwynne was suddenly subdued. She held out a limp hand.
He disregarded it.
”Do you want me to come?” He spoke more cheerfully.
”One always likes one's friends to see one off,” she remarked sedately.
”And meet one?” He glanced at the letter in her hand.
”And meet one. Certainly.” Her chin went up. ”I hadn't to ask Clare. But you needn't come. Good-bye!”
”Oh, I'm coming--now,” he a.s.sured her, smiling.
Alwynne's eyebrows went up.
”But it's market-day, you know----”
”Yes.”
”You're awfully busy.”
”Yes.”
”The new stuff's coming in.”
”Yes.”
”Are you coming, Roger?”
”Yes, Alwynne.”
”Then, Roger dear--if you are coming, and it's no bother, and you can spare them, would you bring me a tiny bunch of your roses? Not for me--for Clare. She does love them so. Do, Roger!”
”I'm hanged if I do,” cried Roger, and went his wrathful way.