The Little Dragon. Betty Neels

obviously anxious to get away as soon as possible. ‘Until half past three?’ she conceded, and went to get her outdoor things.

      He was hard going; not in the least interested in the town or its lovely buildings. Indeed, he confided in Constantia, if it wasn’t that Aunt Vera had left him a tidy little sum in her will, he wouldn’t bother to come and see her at all. Constantia liked him even less for saying that; his good looks were skin-deep and she had the strong impression that the only thing that mattered to him was himself and his own doings. She rushed him from one church to the next, pointed out some of the more beautiful buildings, knowing that he wasn’t in the least interested, and wanted to know, with some asperity, if he wouldn’t like to cut short his sightseeing. It was already well past half past three—she would never get to Doctor van der Giessen’s house in time now.

      They were standing on the edge of the Markt where he had parked his car, while she urged him to get in and drive away as nicely as she could without actually giving him a push, when Doctor van der Giessen’s battered Fiat drove slowly by. He saw them but he didn’t stop, only gave her an expressionless look which held no hint of an invitation to tea.

      It was a pity that Willy Caxton chose that moment to catch her by the hand and look earnestly into her face. He was only begging her to assure his aunt that he had had a delightful afternoon and to refrain from mentioning that he was leaving before he was supposed to, but she could hardly stop the doctor’s car to tell him that.

      She gave Willy only half her attention as she watched the Fiat rush round a corner and out of sight. She wouldn’t dare to go to tea now; she had wasted almost half an hour getting the wretched Willy to go, and probably the doctor thought that she had stood his tea party up for the pleasures of Willy’s tiresome company.

      Her half day was spoiled; she waved Willy a thankful goodbye and wandered away, wondering if she should telephone the doctor’s house or even go there. But in the face of that bland look she had received from the car she didn’t dare. She would write a little note. She had tea in the little tea shop by the market, composing it in her head while she did so. She went for a long walk afterwards, eating her supper in a snack bar and then walking again. The half day she had so looked forward to had been a washout.