“Ah, Knowles, how do you do?” said Bayliss.
I acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed fashion. I wondered how long he had been there and what he had heard. He alighted from the car and shook hands with us.
“Didn't see you, Knowles, at first,” he said. “Saw Miss Morley here and thought she was alone. Was going to beg the privilege of taking her home in my car.”
Miss Morley answered promptly. “You may have the privilege, Doctor Bayliss,” she said. “I accept with pleasure.”
Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled.
“Thanks, awfully,” he said. “But my car holds but two and your uncle—”
“Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should love the motor ride. May I get in?”
He helped her into the car. “Sure you don't mind, Knowles,” he asked. “Sorry there's not more room; but you couldn't leave the horse, though, could you? Quite comfy, Miss Morley? Then we're off.”
The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an instant; there was withering contempt in its look—also triumph.
Left alone, I walked to the trap, gave the horse-holding boy sixpence, climbed to the seat and took up the reins. “Pet” jogged lazily up the street. The ride over had been very, very pleasant; the homeward journey was likely to be anything but that.