CHAPTER II
When Mrs. Lancing went upstairs her hostess went with her.
"So the dear motor did go wrong, after all," observed Mrs. Brenton, a trifle triumphantly. "I think I had the best of it in my despised one-horse shay."
Camilla threw off her furs with a sigh.
"Dear Agnes," she said, "I hate making you conceited, but truth compels me to admit that for once you are right. A motor is a beautiful thing if it goes smoothly, but when it goes wrong it is just the other kind of thing."
"Of course I am right," said Mrs. Brenton, as she stirred the fire briskly.
She was a plain woman with a hard-riding figure and grey hair neatly plaited, but she had a pair of handsome and kind eyes, and a delightful voice.
"Give me horses," she said. "By-and-by, when I am in my little grave, I have no doubt folk will be switchbacked to America and home again; but I hate experiments—I am a little too old for them—and the best car that is made is only a thing on trial, you know."
She helped Camilla to slip out of the big coat.