In the body of the car sat Mrs. Aldwinkle, Mrs. Chelifer, Chelifer and Mr. Cardan. Calamy and Miss Thriplow had decided that they had no time to go to Rome and had been left—without a word of objection on Mrs. Aldwinkle’s part—at the palace. The landscape slid placidly past the windows. Mr. Cardan and Mrs. Chelifer talked about traditional games.
Meanwhile, a couple of hundred yards behind, Lord Hovenden disgustfully sniffed the dusty air. “How intolerably slowly old Ernest drives!” he said to his companion.
“Aunt Lilian doesn’t allow him to do more than thirty miles an hour,” Irene explained.
Hovenden snorted derisively. “Firty! But must we eat veir filthy dust all ve way?”
“Perhaps you might drop back a bit,” Irene suggested.
“Or perhaps we might pass vem?”
“Well …” said Irene doubtfully. “I don’t think we ought to make poor Aunt Lilian eat our dust.”
“She wouldn’t eat it for long, if old Ernest is only allowed to do firty.”
“Well, in that case,” said Irene, feeling that her duty towards Aunt Lilian had been done, “in that case….”
Lord Hovenden accelerated. The road was broad, flat and straight. There was no traffic. In two minutes Mrs. Aldwinkle had eaten her brief, unavoidable meal of dust; the air was clear again. Far off along the white road, a rapidly diminishing cloud was all that could be seen of Lord Hovenden’s Velox.