“How did you get over today, Mrs. Solent?” enquired Gerda, cutting short Mr. Weevil’s memories with a furtive little movement of her hand⁠—a movement that came as rather a surprise to Wolf, as he noted it in passing.

“Oh, Roger Monk drove me,” exclaimed Wolf’s mother. “And that reminds me⁠ ⁠… what’s the time, my son?⁠ ⁠… Good Lord! I’ve kept the man waiting already! I must go at once. I’m to meet him at the Three Peewits.”

“I’ll walk down with you, Mother,” said Wolf, glad enough to get a chance of escape. “Goodbye, Mrs. Torp. I know you’ll excuse me. Don’t hurry off, Bob. Why don’t you keep him for supper, Gerda? And Lobbie, too, if Mrs. Torp will let him stay?”

Mother and son walked leisurely down the clattering High Street.