“Shall I get my head bitten off if I venture to escort you to the hall?” he asked, so that she alone could hear.
“I would not trouble you for the world,” she replied frigidly, and offered her hand.
Lawrence looked into her eyes, and something like a flash of sword-play passed between them.
“All the same,” he remarked, coolly, “I am going to send you home in a hansom, and see you into it myself.”
Paddy saw it was useless to object there and did not want to make a scene, so went stiffly downstairs. In the hall the lordly James stood waiting.
“Call a hansom,” said Lawrence briefly.
“Not for me,” said Paddy, with her nose in the air. “I am going in a ’bus.”
“But it is raining fast, and you will only get wet.” Lawrence spoke a little urgently, while the butler waited with impassive face.
“I love getting wet,” icily.
The faintest suspicion of a smile hovered over Lawrence’s lips, but he only turned to the butler and said, “Go and ask Miss Doreen’s maid for a cloak and umbrella.”