Meanwhile they were bowling along the State road at better than forty miles an hour, but so smoothly that Pen had no sense of great speed except when she happened to catch a glimpse of some astonished face in the road. They had a highly accomplished chauffeur at the wheel and the heavy car held her speed up hill and down as steadily as a locomotive. Woods, fields and villages were thrust behind them with no sense of effort.
As they drew near to Baltimore Pen began to wonder how she was going to get rid of Riever. He saved her the trouble by saying:
"I have to go to the Hotel Bellevue for a conference. You'll keep the car of course, and load your purchases right into it. So much easier."
Pen would have liked to dispense with the car as well as its owner, but did not see how that was to be accomplished plausibly. At any rate she reflected, the chauffeur could not follow her into the stores. The main thing was to be rid of Riever. But she rejoiced too soon.
He said: "I'm taking it for granted you'll lunch with me at the Bellevue. We breakfasted so early I ordered lunch for twelve-thirty."
This was awkward. "Oh, I'm sorry!" said Pen. "It will be impossible!"
This man was not accustomed to be denied what he wanted. The spoiled child leaped out of his eyes. "Why?" he demanded.
"So much to do," said Pen. "This is a leisurely town. Not like New York. It takes time to be waited on."
"But you've all afternoon."
Pen was patient, for her. "But think how seldom I get to town. I couldn't take an hour or two off for lunch."