He held open the door for her. “Permit me to tell you, Miss Taverner, that whatever else may be at fault, your taste in dress is unimpeachable.”
“I do not admit, sir, that there is anything at fault,” flashed Miss Taverner.
At sight of her the waiting tiger touched his hat, but bent a severely inquiring glance on his master.
Miss Taverner took the whip and reins in her hands, and mounted into the driving-seat, scorning assistance.
“Take your orders from Miss Taverner, Henry,” said the Earl, getting up beside his ward.
“Me lord, you ain’t never going to let a female drive us?” said Henry almost tearfully. “What about my pride?”
“Swallow it, Henry,” replied the Earl amicably.
The tiger’s chest swelled. He gazed woodenly at a nearby lamppost and said in an ominous voice: “I heard as how Major Forrester was wanting me for his tiger. Come to my ears, it did. Lord Barrymore too. I dunno how much he wouldn’t give to get a hold of me.”
“You had much better go to Sir Henry Payton,” recommended Worth. “I will give you a note for him.”
The tiger turned a look of indignant reproach upon him. “Yes, and where would you be if I did?” he demanded.