"I don't like new sorts of cabs," replied my aunt. "I want what in my young days used to be called a 'growler.' I hate hansoms; I wouldn't dare go in one of them."
In vain poor Vernon pleaded for the light and swift motion of the cab which was driven by petrol. The old lady held up her hands with horror.
"Not for worlds would I go in a motor-cab," she said. "Vernon, I have admired you and stood up for you, but I shall do so no longer if you even mention such a thing to me again."
So in the end we three had to drive to my stepmother's in a four-wheeled cab. Aunt Penelope said that it was quite a handsome conveyance, and not the least like the "growlers" she used to remember in the days when she and her sister were young. We got to the great and beautiful house about noon. We walked up the steps and Vernon rang the bell.
"Perhaps they'll be out," I could not help whispering in his ear.
"No, I think not," he replied. "I sent a telegram this morning which I imagine will keep them at home. Now, you'll keep up your courage, won't you, darling?"
"You needn't be afraid," I replied.
He gave my hand a squeeze, and the door was flung open. The automaton who opened it could not help becoming flesh and blood when he saw my face. A queer flicker went over his countenance; he coloured, faintly smiled, then, remembering himself, became a wooden man once again.
"Is Lady Helen in?" I ventured to say.
"Yes, Miss Dalrymple. I'll inquire of her ladyship if she can see you, and——" he glanced at Vernon, he looked with downright suspicion at Aunt Penelope.