Miss Frink had instinctively felt that during the first weeks of his new status in the town Hugh would not wish to be seen driving with her in her well-known equipage, and she had desisted from asking him; but to-day he was beside her as the handsome bays jingled toward that large salesroom where reposed their hitherto unsuccessful rivals.
“Now I have picked out a car,” said Miss Frink as they neared their goal, “but I didn’t want to buy it without your approval because, of course, I hope you would like to drive me a good deal.”
“I understand,” replied Hugh. “I certainly should like to.”
As they entered the salesroom, a man came forward to welcome them eagerly.
“Mr. Godfrey, this is my nephew, Mr. Sinclair, and I want him to see that roadster I was looking at.”
“Yes, Miss Frink, I’ve been watching for you.”
He led the way to where a low, rakish, canary-colored machine shone gayly.
Hugh stared at it.
“Is this the one, Aunt Susanna?”