"This little road is right," said Dorothy, "but the broad road that leads out of this one is not so rough, and it is a little shorter."
"There, Minturn, I said plainly that I believed we could get there quicker some other way!"
"You are sure about the Cleverton?" the old lady asked. "You know where it is?"
"I'm staying there with mamma, and that truly is the right way," said Dorothy, her soft eyes looking up into the hard, old face.
"I guess I can trust you," the old lady said, not smiling, but looking a bit less stern.
"Now, Minturn, we'll try to reach the hotel, sometime before dark!" she said curtly.
Puffing and whirring the big automobile started off up the road, the old lady sitting stern and erect, as if she thought her driver needed watching, and she was determined to keep a sharp eye upon him.
"Why, how queer!" said Dorothy. "She didn't even say 'good-bye,' or 'good-morning.' Perhaps she was very tired, and forgot,"—then after a moment she added, "but my beautiful mamma never forgets."
She went back to the pretty spot where she had been reading, and sitting down, opened the book, but she could not keep her mind upon the stories. The strange face of the old lady seemed to look at her from the printed page.
How small and sharp her eyes had been, and how she asked the same question again and again. Did she doubt the answer given her?