He returned, blue towel in hand. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. Drummond had made an abominable mistake. "Do you mean to tell me he's come and gone in an hour? What the devil kind of a father is he?" Spurlock shook his head. He waited for hours after dusk but she never arrived. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Officers were these. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. She wished she had not stood up. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. "I cannot climb the boat. He walked across the Park and called upon his sister.
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