Trying to look unconcerned, Joan followed.

"Get in, quick," said Martin. "We'll talk as we go."

"But why? If I don't stay here, where am I to stay?"

"I don't know. Please get in."

Joan stood firm. The color had come back to her face, and a look of
something like anger had taken the place of fright. "I didn't tell
you to march off like that. Gilbert's here."

"That's why we're going," Said Martin.

"I don't understand." Her eyes were blazing.

"I know you don't. You can't stay in that house. It isn't done."

"I can do it, and I must do it. Do you suppose I'm going back with
my tail between my legs?"

"If we argue here, we shall collect a crowd." He got into the car
and held out his hand.

Joan ignored it but followed him in. She was angry, puzzled,
disappointed, nonplussed. Alice had no right to be away on such an
occasion. Everything had looked so easy and smooth-sailing. Even
Martin had changed into a different man, and was ordering her about.
If he thought he could drive her back to that prison again, he was
considerably wrong. She would never go back, never.