"Forgive me for interrupting, but I am under command from royal headquarters. Peter, the king of chauffeurs, sends in word that the car is in an amiable mood and champing to be off. So seldom is it in a good-humour that he—"
"I'll be off at once," exclaimed Barnes, arising.
"By Jove, it is half-past ten. I had no idea—Good night, Miss Cameron. Sorry my time is up. I am sure I could have made you hate your own sex in another half hour."
She held out her hand. "One of our virtues is that we never pretend to be in love with our own sex, Mr. Barnes. That, at least, is a luxury reserved solely for your sex."
He bowed low over her hand. "A necessity, if I may be pardoned for correcting you." He pressed her hand re-assuringly and left her.
She had arisen and was standing, straight and slim by the corner of the fireplace, a confident smile on her lips.
"If you are to be long in the neighbourhood, Mr. Barnes," said his hostess, "you must let us have you again."
"My stay is short, I fear. You have only to reveal the faintest sign that I may come, however, and I'll hop into my seven league boots before you can utter Jack Robinson's Christian name. Good night, Mrs. Van Dyke. I have you all to thank for a most delightful evening. May I expect to see you down our way, Mr. Van Dyke? We have food for man and beast at all times and in all forms."
"I've tackled your liquids," said Van Dyke. "You are likely to see me 'most any day. I'm always rattling 'round somewhere, don't you know." (He said "rettling," by the way.) The car was waiting at the back of the house. O'Dowd walked out with Barnes, their arms linked,—as on a former occasion, Barnes recalled.
"I'll ride out to the gate with you," said the Irishman. "It's a winding, devious route the road takes through the trees. As the crow flies it's no more than five hundred yards, but this way it can't be less than a mile and a half. Eh, Peter?"