” “My dear young lady,” the official said irritably, “this man would not have your name and address in his pocket without an object. Gerald stayed him. 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. Old London Bridge. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. He kissed her lightly on the lips.
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