John sat pensively in the back of his best friend's mother's minivan, piloted by his best friend Mark. It was time to get up. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. Returning to Mrs Sindlesham’s chair, he held up the miniature so the face depicted there was turned towards the old lady. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. She is in the hall now. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. He offered me at once an engagement. Cheveney was looking after her, I think, then.
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