Free The Little Girls by Elizabeth Bowen

about everything. Out I got, at the station—”
    “Not a soul there,” took up Frank, bringing Dinah a drink but nodding over his shoulder at the sufferer. “I could always have met her, as things turned out.—And meanwhile, where were you tearing off to? The wrong station?”
    “A blasted heath.”
    “So I ended up in a taxi,” said Sheila bravely. “I must say, you’re miles from anywhere, aren’t you? Chiefly, though, I was worried, and still am. What can have possibly happened to poor old Mumbo? Where she’s got to, one simply hasn’t a clue. I mean to say, where is our wandering girl?”
    “Having a wash.”
    “Oh,” said Sheila, by reflex. Slowly, though, the intelligence filtered through to her—she turned her face, which was colouring slowly, away from Dinah. “You can’t mean, here?”
    “Yes I do. Here. Why not?”
    “How did she get here?”
    “Motor car.”
    “When?”
    “Just now. With me.”
    “You said she’d be on the train!”
    ‘To which you said nothing.”
    “Oh, stop it, Dicey! Don’t nag.—Does she know I’m here?”
    “Know? No. We’d both sadly written you off.”
    “Oh,” Sheila remarked, while her mermaid eyes became dreamy, then showed a decided glint. She smiled. “Then, in this case I’ll really be quite a shock.”
    “Why? You’re not half such a wreck as you seem to think. Anyway, she saw you the other day.”
    “Thanks. That was not, though, what I happened to mean—this time. What I meant is, she’s about to look quite a fool. Caught out. I’m rather sorry to say, she’s been underhand.”
    “Mumbo?”
    “Oh yes, I know she’s a soldier’s daughter.—Still, enough of that for the moment,” Sheila declared, lightly touching around her waves of blue-blonded hair with the hand not engaged in holding her glass. “The whole sad story would hardly be interesting to Major Wilkins.—We mustn’t bore you, must we?” she asked him.
    “On the contrary,” Frank returned, though with not altogether his former vigour. Worn out by hoping the girls would at last sit down, that he at last might take his weight off his feet, he languished in the vicinity of a window. “Absolutely the contrary, couldn’t be more so! It means something to me, I may say, to be told anything. As a rule I’m left in the dark as to what goes on; or so it seems to me—or is that my stupidity?” (Indignation recharged the batteries as he went along.) “In the dark absolutely as to plans for today—not aware, in fact, that anything had been planned. So far as I now understand, I have crashed a party, or—worse, no doubt?—a reunion. I can only say, no one gave me any idea. Efforts were made to get me out of the way, as I should have spotted. Been as blind as a bat. Should have been more popular—eh?— not here.” He gnashed his teeth, beneath the splendid moustache, at Dinah—who, early on in the discourse, had settled into her large chair, legs tucked under her, thereby causing Sheila to seek round for somewhere to perch herself, which she had finally done, with West End grace, on an arm of the other large chair, properly Frank’s. “London was indicated,” he went on. “Up to the mark or not (and I’m not, this morning, can’t tell you why), London it was to be. Why I was not told why, I might well wonder; but I’m damned if I’m going to—can’t be bothered… .” He let silence simmer, then turned again to Sheila. “Sorry,” he said, “too bad. But I’m not so sorry, you know, as I know I ought to be. I’ve at least had the pleasure of boring you for this last hour, and delightful it’s been! In case I don’t see you again, very many thanks. Now I must take myself home and look out some lunch.”
    “How sad.”
    “What there’ll be in the house,” ruminated Frank, “to eat, that is to say, I have no idea. Something, let’s hope.”
    “Let’s,” said Dinah serenely. “What you’re to eat, Sheikie, don’t ask me. There are three