"Iris, let me introduce Dr. Anstice ... Miss Wayne."
Anstice bowed, but the girl held out her hand with a youthful friendliness which was attractive.
"How d'you do? I'm glad I didn't know your car was behind me as we came up the avenue. I don't mind what I meet, but I always hate things coming up behind my cycle," she said pleasantly.
"If you are in the habit of giving such youthful passengers rides I don't wonder you're nervous," he replied; and the girl opened her grey eyes widely.
"Nervous! I'm not!" She spoke indignantly. "But when your allowance is strictly limited, and you have to pay for repairs yourself, you don't want people running into you from the back and perhaps smashing up your pet Douglas!"
"I see." He smiled discreetly, and Mrs. Carstairs claimed his attention once more.
"And this"—she drew the child forward—"is Cherry."
"How are you?" Anstice, who was always polite to children, shook hands, and the child looked at him with a pair of very clear brown eyes.
"Quite well, thank you, my dear," she responded gravely, and Iris Wayne was secretly much diverted by the expression of astonishment which this form of address evoked in the face of the hearer.
"You like motoring?" Anstice felt constrained to keep up the conversation, and Cherry nodded calmly.