Of course I understood the impropriety blind. Mother wanted me to be free to go away with her, and the twenty-sixth was to be the night, after all. I thought of the crossing by the nine o'clock mail that we should have to do, and that I only know of from hearsay, and wondered why they must choose such an awkward time? Perhaps we should not after all cross that night, for surely Mr. Aix would want to come before the curtain if called, and that wouldn't possibly be till about ten o'clock, too late for the train? Perhaps we should stay the night at an hotel? I should simply love that. CHAPTER XXI "Shall I type your Good-bye to George?" I asked Mother. She said, "What do you mean?" I said, "The one you will leave pinned to your pincushion in the usual place?" She laughed, and I again thought her most fearfully casual. There was no packing done, although one would have thought she would have liked her clothes nice and fresh and lots of them, so that she shouldn't feel shabby at Boulogne, and let Mr. Aix and herself down. As for my clothes--I really only had one--one dress I mean--and it was hanging loose where it shouldn't, and with a large ink-spot in front nobody had troubled to take out with salts of lemon or anything. But I began to think some things had been sent on beforehand, as advance luggage or so forth, for Mr. Aix came in one evening, and when Aunt Gerty raised her eyebrows at him, he said "A 1!" That I fancied was the ticket number for the luggage, so I felt more at ease. One eventful evening, after Mother had been lying down all day, I was told to put on my sun-ray pleated, and to mend it if it wanted it. I did mend it and I put a toothbrush in the pocket of it, and I kissed all the cats until they hated me. Cats don't like kissing, but then I didn't know when I should see them again? I supposed some time, for running away never is a permanent thing. People always come back and take up housekeeping again, in the long run. The funny thing was, they had chosen the day of Mr. Aix's first night to run away on. I suppose it was in case he was boo-ed. Then the manager could come on and say, "The author is not in the house, having gone to Boulogne with a lady and little girl, by the nine o'clock mail!" That, of course, was the train we were to catch. I looked it out, I am good at trains. George took Lady Scilly to dine at the Paxton that night, and on to the theatre where some others were to meet them. I have never been to a theatre myself, only music halls. At six o'clock George went off, all grin and gardenia. The grin was as forced as the gardenia. I observed that. Aunt Gerty badly wanted to go with Mr. Aix and hold his hand, as he was as nervous as a cat. But he wouldn't have her with him, and I don't wonder. It would have been impossible to shake her off by nine o'clock, and he would have missed the boat-train, and Mother and me.