"Without luncheon?" the girl asked.
"Just give me a sandwich and I'll eat it in my hand."
"I want you to hurry," she said to James as she entered the glowing limousine with the sandwich half consumed.
They drove at top speed over the smooth, state road to the mill city. At half past two, Mrs. Bing alighted at the fashionable Gray Goose Inn where the best people had their luncheon parties. She found Phyllis and Gordon in a cozy alcove, sipping cognac and smoking cigarettes, with an ice tub and a champagne bottle beside them. To tell the whole truth, it was a timely arrival. Phyllis, with no notion of the peril of it, was indeed having "a lovely time"—the time of her young life, in fact. For half an hour, she had been hanging on the edge of the giddy precipice of elopement. She was within one sip of a decision to let go.
Mrs. Bing was admirably cool. In her manner there was little to indicate that she had seen the unusual and highly festive accessories. She sat down beside them and said, "My dear, I was very lonely and thought I would come and look you up. Is your luncheon finished?"
"Yes," said Phyllis.
"Then let us go and get into the car. We'll drop Mr. King at his home."
When at last they were seated in the limousine, the angry lady lifted the brakes in a way of speaking.
"I am astonished that you would go to luncheon with this young man who has insulted you," she said.