Now, what did the doctor mean by all this nonsense, Billie asked herself. It was true that Phoebe, when she had gone in search of Richard had put on her old faded gingham, and certainly Richard owed a great deal to the beggar maid in disguise, but she—Billie—did wish the doctor wouldn’t tease.
Billie blessed the “Comet” that morning from the bottom of her heart. It was a busy time and the swift, faithful machine enabled them to accomplish in a few hours what with a horse and wagon might have taken them at least a day to do. After breakfast he carried them down to the village, where Dr. Hume’s telegrams were sent, and where something happened that set Billie wondering about the identity of Phoebe and her father.
While Ben sent the telegrams and Maggie Hook and Mary looked over the souvenir post cards in the general store, Billie sat on the steps outside reading a letter from her father. Only Phoebe, once more attired in the white blouse and duck skirt, remained in the car. A big touring car containing two men and a chauffeur drew up alongside the “Comet,” and while one of the men went into the store, the other paced up and down outside. He was a man about Mr. Campbell’s age, tall and foreign looking with a soldierly bearing. Billie glanced at him only once and went on reading her letter. Presently she noticed that he was standing in front of her, his hat in his hand.
“Will you pardon me if I interrupt you?” he asked in good English with an accent. “May I take the liberty of asking you a question?”
“Oh, certainly,” answered Billie politely.
“May I inquire the name of the young lady in the motor car, if it is not too great an impertinence? I ask not from curiosity, but because I perceive a strong likeness.”
“Her name is ‘Phoebe,’” Billie answered.
“And her surname?”
Billie hesitated. After all it was absurd to assert that Phoebe’s last name was “French.”