"You may take my word for it, Mrs. Millidew, good old Trotter went to a great deal of pains to arrange a very suitable match for me," said he airily. "He was a most discriminating chap."
"How interesting," said she, stiffening slightly. "Am I permitted to inquire just what opportunities Thomas Trotter has had to select a suitable companion for the rather exotic Mr. Temple?"
"Fortunately," said he, "the rather exotic Mr. Temple approves entirely of the choice made by Thomas Trotter."
"I wouldn't trust a chauffeur too far, if I were you," said she, a little maliciously.
"Just how far would you trust one?" he inquired, lifting his eyebrows.
She smiled. "Well,—the length of Long Island," she said, with the utmost composure.
"Mr. Trotter's late employer would not, it appears, share your faith in the rascal," said he.
"She is a rather evil-minded old party," said Mrs. Millidew, the younger, bowing to the occupants of an automobile which was moving slowly in the same direction down the Avenue.
A lady in the rear seat of the limousine leaned forward to peer at the widow's companion, who raised his hat,—but not in greeting. The man who slumped down in the seat beside her, barely lifted his hat. A second later he sat up somewhat hastily and stared.
The occupants of the car were Mrs. Smith-Parvis,—a trifle haggard about the eyes,—and her son Stuyvesant.