Then he went back to the garage, and waited, and waited, and waited, with grim resentment. A little after four o’clock he was preparing to take the sedan out again, when Amy appeared in the doorway, in her fur coat and a little scarlet hat.
“Oh, good!” she cried. “You’re all ready! I want you to take me—”
“No!” said Ross. “Mr. Solway said four fifty, and I’m going to meet his train.”
“But he meant the four fifty from New York!” said she. “You’ll have plenty of time.” She came nearer to him. “Please, please be quick!” she said. “It’s my last chance!”
VIII
“To the left, and straight ahead!” said Amy, as they drove out of the gates.
So, to the left he turned, and drove straight ahead. And he looked straight ahead, too, although he knew very well that she was looking at him. This girl took entirely too much for granted. It was one thing to help her, but to obey her orders blindly was quite another, and it did not suit him. Here he was, dressed up in a chauffeur’s uniform somewhat too small for him, and behaving, no doubt, as those other chauffeurs had behaved—like a fool.
He heard her stir restlessly, with little flutterings and jinglings of her silly feminine finery. She sighed deeply.
“I don’t believe you’ve told me your right name,” she said, plaintively.
“James Ross,” he announced.