Beatrice and her mother exchanged glances.
"Very well," Beatrice then said quietly. "Tell Travers Sahib I shall be delighted. Paul need not bring round the carriage."
The ayah retired, and with an undisturbed calm Beatrice proceeded to slip into her evening cloak.
"At any rate, he hasn't spoken yet," she said. "Fate seems to mean well with you, mother."
"It all depends on you, Beatrice," the other returned impressively.
"Do you think so? Well, I have half-an-hour's drive before me—tete-a-tete. I dare say I shall manage. Good night!" She patted her mother lightly on the hand as she passed her on the way to the door.
"Good-by, my dear. Do your best, won't you?"
"Haven't I been brought up to do my best?" Beatrice answered with a laugh.
She hurried on to the verandah which faced out on the drive, the ayah accompanying her with numerous wraps and shawls. Archibald Travers, who had remained seated, greeted her with a cheerful wave of the whip.
"Please excuse my getting down, Miss Cary," he said. "My horse is in a state of mind which does not allow for politeness. Can you trust yourself to his tender care?"