“Now, you two—what are you discussing?”
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“Your chauffeur is immovable, mademoiselle,” was the ready answer, though the accompanying smile was not one of the Count’s best efforts.
“He looks it. Why are you vexed, Fitzroy? Can’t you forgive your friend Simmonds?”
Cynthia lifted those demure blue eyes of hers, and held Medenham’s gaze steadfast.
“I trust you are not challenging contradiction, Miss Vanrenen?” he said, with deliberate resolve not to let her slip back thus easily into the rôle of gracious employer.
She did not flinch, but her eyebrows arched a little.
“Oh, no,” she said offhandedly. “Simmonds told me his misfortunes last night, and I assumed that you and he had settled matters satisfactorily between you.”
“As for that,” broke in the Count, “I have just offered my car as a substitute, but Fitzroy prefers to take you as far as Hereford, at any cost.”
“Hereford! I understood from Simmonds that Mr. Fitzroy would see us through the remainder of the tour?”