For a time her efforts to achieve a comprehensive concentration were dispersed by the passage of the village street of Caddington, the passing of a goggled car-load of motorists, and the struggles of a stable lad mounted on one recalcitrant horse and leading another. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door. “It’s unforgivable of me to call, Miss Stanley,” he said, shaking hands in a peculiar, high, fashionable manner; “but you know you said we might be friends. Why had he glanced up—quite in that way?.
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