"What? Are you going to tell me she isn't your mother any more? Are you out 'on your own,' little lady?"
"I don't know what that is; and my mother's my mother just as usual, thank you," said Rosemary, with dignity. "She's quite well. But she doesn't know I came out to look for you."
"Oh, doesn't she?" echoed the young man in the car. "Then don't you think the best thing you can do is to let me take you back to her?"
"She won't be home yet, not till it's dark, I expect," said the child.
"Oh, that's a long time yet. Well, since you know me, wouldn't you like to climb in, and have a little run?"
"May I, truly and really?" The little face grew pink with joy.
"Truly and really—if you're not afraid."
"What should I be afraid of?" Rosemary asked.
"I was talking nonsense. Get down, Paul, and put her into the tonneau. You'd better sit by her, perhaps."
The chauffeur proceeded to obey, but when the child found herself being tucked into a back seat of the car, she gave a little protesting cry. "Oh, can't I sit in front with you?"