“Charlie,” observed Deane, “Miss Bell airs thinks you’ll be more comfortable by yourself than perched on this front seat.”
“Especially as you’re smoking,” added Dora. “Allez, cocher.”
Charlie hailed another vehicle and got in. As he did so he remarked between his teeth, “I’m d——d if I stand it.”
CHAPTER XI. — A DYNAMITE OUTRAGE
On one side of the Lake Dora mid John walked together, on the other Mary and Charlie. Miss Bussey and Roger Deane sat in the garden of the cafi. The scene round them was gay. Carriages constantly drove up, discharging daintily attired ladies and their cavaliers. There was a constant stream of bicycles, some of them steered by fair riders in neat bloomer-suits; the road-waterers spread a grateful coolness in their ambit, for the afternoon was hot for the time of year, and the dust had an almost autumnal volume. Miss Bussey had been talking for nearly ten minutes on end, and now she stopped with an exhausted air, and sipped her coffee. Deane lit another cigar and sat silently looking on at the life that passed and repassed before him.
“It’s a curious story,” he observed at last.
“Very; but I suppose it’s all ended happily now. Look at them, Sir Roger.”
“Oh, I see them.”