That she got no further to-day was due to a timely interruption—nothing less, in fact, than a snort of an intensity too clamorous to be ignored.
Valerie looked up.
"At last," said Lady Touchstone with some asperity. "That's the fourth."
"The fourth what?" said Valerie.
"The fourth snort," said her aunt. "I don't know what's the matter with you nowadays. To snort at all, I must be profoundly moved. You know that as well as I do."
"What's the matter?" said Valerie.
Lady Touchstone stared at her.
"My dear," she said, "what you want is a change. You have just witnessed what I hope is the most flagrant miscarriage of justice of recent years, you have seen twelve fools bamboozled by a knave, you have heard a friend of yours grossly insulted, and you ask me what's the matter." The car swung round a corner, and Lady Touchstone, who was unready, heeled over with a cry. "I wish Mason wouldn't do that," she added testily, dabbing at her toque. "So subversive of dignity. What was I saying? Oh yes. A change. We'd better go to Nice."
Before Miss French could reply, a deafening report from beneath them announced the dissolution of another tire.
Mason brought the car to the side of the road. Then he applied the hand-brake and alighted heavily to inspect the damage.