‘You! Have you pen and paper?’ ‘Pen and paper now, is it?’ grumbled the old man as he shuffled down the hall. While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. Tell him the truth, Annabel. Her efforts were vain. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. His literary instincts began to stir. At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. ‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation.
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