“And poor Joss leads such a dull life; there are no young people to take him out, and no dogs of his own class in the village, and now”—as she began to draw the bolts of a coach-house door, but Owen came forward—“here is the motor;” and, taking a long breath, she ejaculated, “There!”
There indeed was the car, newly painted, and dark green, as described. It was a closed motor brougham to hold four. Owen examined it critically, and with the eye of an expert. Within the last few days he had become rather wise respecting cars. This was an old-fashioned machine, which had seen a great deal of hard wear, and would not stand much rough usage—no, nor many long journeys.
“Isn’t it nice?” said Miss Susan, “and do look at all the lovely pockets inside,” opening the door as she spoke.
“Yes; but I don’t see any Stepney wheel,” he said.
“Why, it has four—what more do you want?”
To which he replied by another question:
“Where did Miss Parrett get hold of it?”
“Oh, she bought it through an advertisement from a gentleman who had ordered a larger car, and as he didn’t want two—indeed, he made rather a favour of selling it—he parted with this one, a bargain.”
“Oh—a bargain!” he repeated helplessly.
“Well, I suppose it was cheap for five hundred?”