They drove on in silence for some time and when, later on, they began to
talk again it was on ordinary commonplace topics, by mutual consent
avoiding any by-way that might lead them back to individual matters. The
depths which had been momentarily stirred settled down once more into
misleading tranquillity.

In due course they arrived at Abbencombe, and the car purred up to the
station, where the Chattertons' limousine, sent to meet Nan, still waited
for her. The transit from one car to the other was quickly effected, and
Peter Mallory stood bareheaded at the door of the limousine.

"Good-bye," he said. "And thank you, little pal. I hope you'll never
find _your_ moon out of reach."

Nan held out her hand. In the grey dusk she felt him carry it to his
lips.

"Good-bye," he said once more.




CHAPTER III

A QUESTION OF EXTERNALS

It was a grey November afternoon two days later. A faint, filmy
suggestion of fog hung about the streets, just enough to remind the
Londoner of November possibilities, but in the western sky hung a golden
sun, and underfoot there was the blessing of dry pavements.