“Why, we shall be in Hereford one day soon. What fun if we met again!”
Marigny looked to heaven, or as far in the direction popularly assigned to heaven as the porch of the Metropole would permit. He was framing a suitable speech, but the Mercury shot out into the open road with a noiseless celerity that disconcerted him.
Medenham at once slackened speed and leaned back.
“I’m very sorry,” he said, “but I clean forgot to ask if you were quite ready to start.”
Cynthia laughed.
“Go right ahead, Fitzroy,” she cried. “Guess the Count is pretty mad, anyhow. He was telling us last night that his Du Vallon is the only car that can hit up twenty at the first buzz.”
“Unpardonable rudeness,” murmured Mrs. Devar.
“On the Count’s part?” asked the girl demurely.
“No, of course not—on the part of this chauffeur person.”