“We have had a quite eventful day,” she said with an air of motherly solicitude, turning to the distrait girl by her side. “I am sure you are tired. What between an extra amount of sightseeing and poor Count Edouard’s unfortunate mistake, we have been in the car nearly twelve hours.”
“How did Fitzroy discover that we had taken the wrong road?” asked Cynthia, rousing herself from a perplexed reverie.
“Well, he drove very fast from Cheddar, much too fast, to my thinking, though the risk has been more than justified by circumstances. Of course, it is always easy to be wise after the event. At any rate, there being no sign of your car when we reached the top of a long hill, we—er—we discussed matters, and decided to explore the byroad.”
“Did you remain long in Cheddar? If Fitzroy hit up the pace, why were you so far behind?”
“I waited a few minutes to address some postcards. And that reminds me—Fitzroy sent a most impertinent message by one of the servants——”
“Impertinent!”
“My dear, there is no other word for it—something about going off without me if I did not start instantly. Really, I shall be glad when Simmonds takes his place. But there! We must not renew our Bournemouth argument.”
“And he caused a servant in the hotel to speak to you in that manner?”
“Yes—the very girl who waited on us at tea—a pert creature, who seemed to find the task congenial.”