"Do these society people really sleep as late as that?" asked the girl.
The driver glanced at her a second.
"Aw, stop yer kiddin'," he said. "All I can say now is that if you try to wake 'em up now they 'll set the dogs on you."
"Very well, let them," interposed Mrs. Wellington. "Now drive on as quickly as possible—and no more talking, please."
The driver had a good look at her as she spoke. His round face became red and pale in turn and he clucked asthmatically to his horse.
"Good Lord," he muttered, "it's herself!"
But he had not much farther to go. Just as they turned into the Harbor Road, a Wellington car came up. The mécanicien had been losing no time, but when he caught sight of the Wellingtons he stopped within a distance which he prided himself was five feet less than any other living driver could have made it in, without breaking the car.
The footman was at the side of the hack in an instant and assisted the mother and daughter into the tonneau, which they entered in silence. Mrs. Wellington, in fact, did not speak until the car was tearing past the golf grounds. Here she turned to her daughter with a grim face.
"Anne," she said, "I 've about made up my mind that you escaped being really funny with that impossible hackman."
"Yes, mother," said the girl, absently viewing the steadily rising roof of her home. "Our ideas of humor were ever alien. I wonder if Prince Koltsoff has arrived."