"Goodnight," said Lionel, bending over the old lady, and kissing her hand with the tenderness of a son.
She twitched it away. "There--there--goodnight. Take Leah to that miserable creature who is perishing in her motor-car, and don't make love to her. She is one of those women who are a crown to their husbands."
Lady Jim did not wait to hear the old woman's chuckle as she fired this last shot, but swept out of the room, smiling kindly on Miss Tallentire. The curate followed her, and Leah began to consider what use she could make of him to farther her plans.
"Let me drive you to Lambeth," she said, while arranging her sables at the door.
Lionel laughed. "Lambeth would be shocked to see me arrive at my lodgings in such an up-to-date style," said he, pulling up the collar of his coat. "No, thank you, Lady James. I'll walk for a time, and then take a Westminster Bridge 'bus."
"No, you won't," she contradicted, in an imperious tone. "I wish to talk to you. Come, get in. French, you can go home."
"But the car, my lady?"
"I'll look to that. Do as you're told."
Looking rather apprehensively at the machine, which was humming and shaking in the bitter cold, French touched his cap and moved away. Leah stepped lightly in, and beckoned to Lionel with one hand, while she gripped the steering-wheel with the other.
"Come along."