‘Her face did sort of get me,’ he admitted.
‘It’s a better face than mine,’ said Frankie generously.
‘It isn’t – but it sort of “haunted” me. And then, when we were up in the attic and you were so plucky about things – well, Moira just faded out. I was hardly interested in what happened to her. It was you – only you. You were simply splendid! So frightfully plucky.’ ‘I wasn’t feeling plucky inside,’ said Frankie. ‘I was all shaking. But I wanted you to admire me.’ ‘I did, darling. I do. I always have. I always shall. Are you sure you won’t hate it out in Kenya?’ ‘I shall adore it. I was fed up with England.’ ‘Frankie.’ ‘Bobby.’ ‘If you will come in here,’ said the Vicar, opening the door and ushering in the advance guard of the Dorcas Society.
He shut the door precipitately and apologized.
‘My – er – one of my sons. He is – er – engaged.’ A member of the Dorcas Society said archly that it looked like it.
‘A good boy,’ said the Vicar. ‘Inclined at one time not to take life seriously. But he has improved very much of late. He is going out to manage a coffee estate in Kenya.’ Said one member of the Dorcas Society to another in a whisper: ‘Did you see? It was Lady Frances Derwent he was kissing?’ In an hour’s time the news was all over Marchbolt.
The End