Then the car slackened, mounted the slight hill and they were in front of the terrace of gloomy little houses.
Stiff and pleasantly tired, they stepped down on the pavement, Bethune's strong arm for a moment supporting Jill.
Hurried adieux and thanks and the pair were off again, McTaggart now in the corner, still warm, where the girl had sat beside the driver on the long ride home.
A sudden silence had fallen between them, each engrossed in his own train of thought.
"Shall I drop you at the Club? I've got to take the car home--it's on our way."
"Thanks." McTaggart roused himself. "Can't you come back and dine with me?--or we'll have a grill somewhere--if you prefer it?"
"Sorry--I can't. I've promised to meet a man--it's a business matter. Otherwise I would."
"Well--some other night." He felt a shade relieved. "It's very good of you to have given us this run. Those kids will talk of it till Kingdom Come--it's a great treat for them."
"Oh--as to that--I enjoyed it myself. That's a nice boy..." there came a little pause--"and Miss Uniacke's ... perfectly ripping!--pretty too." He nodded his head.
"Think so?" McTaggart's voice was coolly indifferent.
"Of course," he added, "she's only a child."
Although the band had been playing since the stroke of ten, guests were still arriving at the Cadells' door; in parties "personally conducted" by the hostess with whom they had dined, their cards already filled and flirtations well started, wearing an air of frozen indifference toward the rest of the gay crowd; in knots of twos and threes hastening from the play; and in stray units, chiefly men, cheered by the thought of approaching supper.
The morning room had been arranged to hold the coats and hats, and for the moment the hall was free from guests. A young man with straight, red hair brushed back from his forehead, and a discontented expression about his tired eyes, emerged from the cloak-room buttoning his gloves and, with a faint start of pleased surprise, nodded to a friend who stood above him on the stairs.
"Thesiger--by all that's strange!--Thought you barred dances?"
"So I do--loathe 'em. But Susan dragged me here. Wait a second, will you?--This confounded glove..."
His friend nodded, leaning against the banisters: a short dark youth with a tiny moustache, that hovered like a butterfly about to take wing under his finely cut aquiline nose.