"And I'm goin' to leave yer for a bit." She edged past him on hands and
knees towards the vallance draperies. "You 'eard what she said?
Well, keep quiet 'ere an' don't be frightened. If Sam comes, tell 'im
I'll be back in five minutes."
She dived out beneath the vallance, caught a glimpse of Miss Sally and Sir Elphinstone making their way at a brisk pace through the crowd, and hurried up the slope in pursuit. It was difficult to keep them in sight, for everyone made way upon recognising them, but showed less consideration for a small panting child; and the head of the field, by the exit gate, was packed by a most exasperating throng pressing to admire a giant motor-car that waited in the roadway with lamps blazing and a couple of men in chauffeurs' dress keeping guard in attitudes of sublime hauteur. Sir Elphinstone, with Miss Sally on his arm, reached the car while yet Tilda struggled in the gateway. A policeman roughly ordered her back. She feigned to obey, and dropping out of sight, crawled forth past the policeman's boots, with her head almost butting the calves of a slow-moving yeoman farmer. Before she could straighten herself up Sir Elphinstone had climbed into the car after his sister, and the pair were settling down in their rugs. One of the chauffeurs was already seated, the other, having set the machine throbbing, was already clambering to his seat. The crowd set up three parting cheers, and Miss Sally, remembering her Ham, held it aloft in farewell.
But while Miss Sally waved and laughed, of a sudden, amid the laughter and cheers and throbbing of the motor, a small child sprang out of the darkness and clung upon the step.
"Lady! Lady!"
Miss Sally stared down upon the upturned face.
"Miles Chandon, lady?—where does 'e live?—For the Lord's sake—"
But already Sir Elphinstone had called the order. The car shot away smoothly.
"Elphinstone—a moment, please! Stop! The child—"
"Eh? . . . Stop the car! . . . Anything wrong?"
Miss Sally peered back into the darkness.