able Herald told me that Bobbie's sister was getting up a motor party in honor of one of my American friends. In consequence, I came up to town for a day, and left a card at Bobbie's club. The sequel of the event was too obvious to be avoided. Here I am." "But you did n't tell him that we crossed together." Stanway shrugged his shoulders. "One does n't tell personal details by wire," he said. "There's danger of their needing to be explained or amplified. No. If you wish the accurate record: I left a card for Bobbie. Bobbie wired me. 'Motoring York twentysixth, come along.' I wired Bobbie, 'Yes, Euston, nine-ten morning twenty-sixth,' and there our interchange of information ended. Coming down from Euston, he's been in too bad a temper to make it wise for me to try to put in a word of any sort." "As I observe. Then I shall have to exonerate you, Mr. Stanway, from any intentional slight to my egotism. But tell me, what do you think of my young niece?" The occupant of the other corner rose up in matronly enthusiasm at the question, and, for a while, the talk was general. Bit by bit, though, Aileen allowed herself to drop out of it. Stanway, to be sure, was talking at his best, talking with more than half an eye on her; but Stanway, for the moment, was powerless to hold his own against the fascination of the car. Highgate now was to the right of them, and they were buzzing smoothly forward over the crest of Hampstead Heath, all billowy grey beneath a lowering, greying sky. Long rags of paler mist dangled across the faces of the distant hills; but Harrow spire flashed into view and out again as, dropping from the crest, the cars shot northward on the first lap of their long, long run. (To be continued.) Aileen nodded at the front seat of the car. |