Riding up to the front entrance, he was surprised to see his friend, Peter Paster, sitting at the wheel of a brand-new Wolseley, complete with antidazzle lamps, cursing fluently. What was the point, Peter started raging, in all these great scientific breakthroughs if one had to be at the mercy of a set of mutton-headed bureaucrats. He had, it appeared, been caught in a speed trap between Windsor and Maidenhead for exceeding the twenty-mile-an-hour limit. “But what are you doing here?” demanded Gerald when he could get a word in edge-ways. Peter opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment Ginny and Alicia appeared on the steps and exclaimed in wonder at the gleaming red motorcar with the white leather upholstery. Ginny was looking very frail, feminine, and pretty in white organza with pale-green spots. Alicia, as a contrast, was dressed in a serviceable navy linen skirt with a white shirt and a hard, uncomfortable-looking collar. Peter had a pleasant ugly-handsome face, eyes that crinkled attractively, and a nose that had been broken twice.
