XI
AN ARRIVAL IN TRANSIT
When Gertrude bade Brockway good-night, she changed places for the moment with a naughty child on its way to face the consequences of a misbehavior, entering the private car with a childish consciousness of wrong-doing fighting for place with a rather militant determination to meet reproof with womanly indifference. Much to her relief, she found her father alone, and there was no distinguishable note of displeasure in his greeting.
"Well, Gertrude, did you enjoy your little diversion? Sit down and tell me about it. How does the cab compare with the sitting-room of a private car?"
The greeting was misleading, but she saw fit to regard it as merely the handshaking which precedes a battle royal.
"I enjoyed it much," she answered, quietly. "It was very exciting; and very interesting, too."
"Ah; I presume so. And your escort took good care of you—made you quite comfortable, I suppose."
"Yes."
Mr. Vennor leaned back in his chair and regarded her gravely through the swirls of blue smoke curling upward from his cigar. "Didn't it strike you as being rather—ah—a girlish thing for you to do? in the night, you know, and with a comparative stranger?"
Gertrude thought the battle was about to open, and began to throw up hasty fortifications. "Mr. Brockway is not a stranger; you may remember that we became quite well acquainted——"