"Do you always do as he says?" he queried whimsically. "I have no sister, but I did not understand that was the rule."
She turned to him her soft, completely feminine face, and gleamed into laughter.
"I am the only passive member of a strong-willed family," she told him. "I am always doing what some one bids. Thank you, and good-by."
The margin of safe escape was not great. As Gerard stepped back on the cement promenade, the pink machine shot across and came to a halt near the exit, its driver turning in his seat.
"Any one going to town?" he called, his imperious young voice ringing across the open spaces.
"No," came the discouraging monosyllable from the official stand.
"No one?"
"No."
The driver slowly sent his car forward, temper in every crisp movement, his gaze travelling over the empty tiers of seats, to fall at last upon Gerard and there rest. With a jerk he jammed down the brake and leaned from the machine. Thick fair hair lay across his boyish forehead above level dark brows, his candid dark-blue eyes went direct to their goal: the metal badge fastened to Gerard's lapel and just visible under the edge of his gray overcoat.
"You're wearing a chauffeur's license," he challenged.