'Yes, indeed!'--politely, you know, but other times they wouldn't pay
any attention at all, just roll along over her and smash her flat--like
what's his name--Juggernaut."

"You don't need to tell me that," said Frederica. "All I didn't know was
how it started. Didn't I sit there and watch for a mortal hour, not able
to do a thing? I tried to signal to Martin, but of course he wasn't
opposite to me and ..."

"He did all he could, really," Violet answered her. "I told him to go to
the rescue, and he did, bravely. But what with Hermione being so miffy
about getting frozen out, and Martin himself being so interested in what
they were shouting at each other--because it was frightfully
interesting, you know, if you didn't have to pretend you understood
it--why, there wasn't much he could do."

In the light of this disaster, she was rather glad the men lingered in
the dining-room as long as they did--glad that Hermione had ordered her
car for ten and took the odd girl with her. She made no effort to resist
the departure of the others, with reasonable promptitude, in their
train. When, after the front door had closed for the last time, Martin
released a long yawn, she told him to run along to bed; she wanted to
talk with Rodney, who was to spend the night while his own clothes were
drying out in the laundry.

"Good night, old chap," said Martin in accents of lively commiseration,
"I'm glad I'm not in for what you are."