THE STORY 285 



Moved by an identical impulse they approached 

 the window leading on to the verandah. J\Ir 

 French opened it and they passed out. 



They could see the car, a large touring car, 

 approaching slowly ; there was only one individual 

 in it, and — " That's him! " said Miss Grimshaw, 

 forgetful of grammar, leaving the verandah and 

 taking the downhill path to the road. 



French followed her and they reached the road 

 just as the car was coming to a halt. It was Mr 

 Dashwood in very truth, but a more different 

 edition of the joyous and irresponsible Bobby it 

 would be hard to imagine. His hat on the back 

 of his head exposed fully his face, grimy, unwashed 

 and weary. He had, altogether, the disreputable 

 appearance of a person who has been out all night, 

 and as he crawled out of the car, his movements 

 suggested old age or rheumatism. 



" Something to eat! " said Bobby, as he took 

 French's arm with his left hand and held out his 

 right to Miss Grimshaw. " I'm nearly done. 

 Giveen is loose, but I'll tell you it all when I get 

 up to the house. Thanks; may I lean on you? 

 The car will be all right here." 



" Come along up," said French. 



No word was said till Mr Dashwood was seated 

 in the sitting-room with a glass of whisky-and- 

 soda in his hand. 



" Oh, this is good! " said he. " I haven't had 

 a drink since I don't know how long." 



" Don't drink till you have had some food," 



