Towards two o’clock I drove up to the cottage, and the entire family bundled into the vehicle, and we were off. I chose a pleasant, shady road, and drove slowly, while Bessie and her mother filled the air with baby talk.
As we were climbing the hill near Linwood, I saw, a short distance ahead of us, the form of an elderly gentleman toiling up the ascent in the sun. He seemed fatigued, and stopped as we drew near him, to wipe the beads of perspiration from his brow.
“Why, it’s Mr. Desmond!” exclaimed Bessie.
Sure enough! As he turned toward us I recognized the white vest, the expansive shirt-front, and the resplendent watch-chain that could belong to no other than “old Dives” himself.
“How d’ye do?” I cried, halting our fiery steed.
“Ah! Mr. Travers, Mrs. Pinkerton, how do you do? Delighted to meet you. It’s very warm.”
“How came you so far out in the country afoot?” I asked.
“I had some business at Melton, and lost the 2:30 train back to town, so I started to walk to Linwood with the purpose of taking a train on the other road. They told me it was only a mile and a half, but—.” And he sighed significantly.
“How fortunate that we met you,” said Mrs. Pinkerton quickly, taking the words out of my mouth. “Get in and ride to Linwood with us. We have a vacant seat, you see.”
I seconded her invitation, and without much hesitation he accepted, and took a seat by my side. The conversation turned naturally upon the “young couple” (Bessie and I were no longer referred to in that way), and Mr. Desmond extolled his niece unreservedly. Mother-in-law was evidently somewhat impressed, but I think she made some mental reservations.