“Well, here we are,” he continued, leading the way up the steps; “come into the lounge, and let’s get to know one another. I saw you and your mother together just now—you seem to be tremendous pals.”
“So we are,” said Cara, as she threw herself carelessly into a comfortable chair. “My mother has been awfully good to me.”
“Eh? Well, at any rate, she ran away with you, and now,” coming and standing directly before her, “what do you say to giving me a turn?”
“What do you call a turn?” she enquired, looking back into his eyes, with a true family stare; the girl had a spice of the devil in her, that was certain.
“You will live with me in Hill Street,” he announced pompously; and seeing that this fact made no impression, “have a motor, and a maid.”
“Yes?” The ‘yes’ was cool and indifferent.
“As many frocks and gewgaws as you want, and theatres and dances—those are not in my line. I’ll take you racing; I’ve a string of horses in training.”
“I love racing,” she admitted. “I’ve only seen races once, and that was here.”
“Bah!” with a gesture of contempt, “a set of platers! And so you are on the move at last?”
“Yes; we are going to live with Mrs. Hesketh.”