Noel rode up Campden Hill on a bus, and walked briskly, for it was a bitter day, from Church Street to Chip's rooms.
On the way up the stairs she said:
"Don't leave me to do all the talking, Noel. I feel idiotically nervous. I don't know what to talk about."
"Chuck maidenly modesty to the winds for once," he advised, "and talk about the weather."
"You're not very helpful."
"And when you've done with the weather, there's always the climate."
"Thank you."
"What I mean is, why not just be natural? I expect he's safely unmarriageable, from the money point of view. So you can let the barbed wire alone."
"Anyhow," she said thankfully, "Major Stroud will be there, and he's always noisy and cheerful."
He was there, and at their knock admitted them, looking very large and out of place in the narrow hall. He was one of those men who seem to belong astride a high, bony horse, or in the solid armchair of a spacious London club. He shook hands with great heartiness, and led the way to the sitting room with a loud and reassuring tread.
