He abruptly changed the subject. "And then I'll come back here and wait till he ventures out. I'm off till nine o'clock. I sha'n't pull his nose this time."
"Please explain," she insisted, clutching at his arm as he started to arise. "Did she send you up here, Mr. Trotter?"
"No, she didn't," said he, almost gruffly, and stood up to hail an approaching automobile. "Can't see a thing," he went on. "We'll just have to stop 'em till we catch one that isn't engaged. Taxi?" he shouted.
"No!" roared a voice from the shroud of mist.
"The butler telephoned for one, I am sure," said she. "He must have been sent away before I came downstairs."
"Don't think about it. You'll get yourself all wrought up and—and—Everything's all right, now, Lady Jane,—I should say Miss—"
"Call me Jane," said she softly.
"You—you don't mind?" he cried, and sat down beside her again. The trunk seemed to have increased in size. At any rate there was room to spare at the end.
"Not—not in the least," she murmured.
He was silent for a long time. "Would you mind calling me Eric,—just once?" he said at last, wistfully. His voice was very low. "I—I'm rather homesick for the sound of my own name, uttered by one of my own people."