"I hope you've shut Flick up," she said in a low
voice.
"Of course I have, Mum. He's quite quiet now."
As the boy came forward, into the room, he looked straight up into Mrs.
Crofton's face, and as she met the enquiring, alien look, she told
herself, for the second time that evening, what a pity it was that these
nice people should have such an unpleasant child.
Tom came in to say that the pony cart was at the door, and that Jack was
waiting there for Mrs. Crofton.
They all went out in the hall to see her off. It was a bright, beautiful,
moonlight night, and Rosamund thought the scene quite romantic.
Mr. Tosswill handed his guest into the pony cart with his usual, rather
aloof, courtesy; and after all the good-byes had been said, and as Jack
drove down the long, solitary avenue, Enid Crofton told herself that in
spite of that horrible incident with the dog--it was so strange that
Flick should come, as it were, to haunt her out of her old life, the
life she was so anxious to forget--she had had a very promising and
successful evening. The only jarring note had been that horrid little
boy Timmy--Timmy and his hateful dog.
And then suddenly Enid Crofton asked herself whether Godfrey Radmore was
likely to go on being as fond of Timmy Tosswill as he seemed to be now.
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