"Well," he said, "we might as well resume our journey. We all look and feel, I think, as though we had been taking part in a scene from some opéra bouffe."
Lady Hunterleys shivered. She had drawn a little closer to her husband. Her coat was unfastened. Hunterleys leaned towards her and buttoned it with strong fingers up to her throat.
"Thank you," she whispered. "You wouldn't—you couldn't drive down with us, could you?"
"Have you plenty of room?" he enquired.
"Plenty," she declared eagerly. "Mr. Draconmeyer and I are alone."
For a moment Hunterleys hesitated. Then he caught the smile upon the face of the man he detested.
"Thank you," he said, "I don't think I can desert Lane."
She stiffened at once. Her good night was almost formal. Hunterleys stepped into the car which Richard had brought up. There was just a slight mist around them, but the whole country below, though chaotic, was visible, and the lights on the hill-side, from La Turbie down to the sea-board, were in plain sight.
"Our troubles," Hunterleys remarked, as they glided off, "seem to be over."
"Maybe," Lane replied grimly. "Mine seem to be only just beginning!"