"Oh, come now, mother, you know I never make you feel anything of the—"
"I was referring to Mr. Moody, dear."
"Oh,—well," said he, slightly crestfallen.
Miss Emsdale suppressed a desire to giggle. Moody, a footman without the normal supply of aitches; Juneo, a nobleman with countless generations of nobility behind him!
The car drew up to the curb on the side street paralleling Pickett's. Another limousine had the place of vantage ahead of them.
"Blow your horn, Galpin," ordered Mrs. Smith-Parvis. "They have no right to stand there, blocking the way."
"It's Mrs. Millidew's car, madam," said the footman up beside Galpin.
"Never mind, Galpin," said Mrs. Smith-Parvis hastily. "We will get out here. It's only a step."
Miss Emsdale started. A warm red suffused her cheeks. She had not seen Trotter since that day in Bramble's book-shop. Her heart began to beat rapidly.
Trotter was standing on the curb, carrying on a conversation with some one inside the car. He too started perceptibly when his gaze fell upon the third person to emerge from the Smith-Parvis automobile. Almost instantly his face darkened and his tall frame stiffened. He had taken a second look at the first person to emerge. The reply he was in process of making to the occupant of his own car suffered a collapse. It became disjointed, incoherent and finally came to a halt. He was afforded a slight thrill of relief when Miss Emsdale deliberately ignored the hand that was extended to assist her in alighting.