"I should not think of going with him," she announced icily.
"You said--"
"I said he invited me. I never said I meant to go; I couldn't have said it. For I should hate going with him. There would be no fun in that at all. I want my own car or none. But that need not matter to you. Go with your Barrows."
"Begging your pardon, miss, I don't want to go with any Barrows."
"But you said--"
"If you wished to get rid of me--"
"I wish 'to get rid of' you! I don't repudiate my-business arrangements in that way."
"May I stop on with you, then, miss?" I pleaded at my meekest. "I'll try and do the best I can about the car."
"Oh, do you really think there's any hope?" She clasped her hands and looked at me as if I were an oracle. Her eyelashes are very long. I wonder why they are so charming on her and so abominable on a Frenchman?