"Where do we sup?"
"At the Savoy."
She flushed slightly.
"Not the Savoy," she faltered.
"Why not, mother?" cried the girl, spiritedly. "Mr. Anson, my mother does not care to meet associates of—of other days. I tell her she thinks far too much of these considerations. Why should she fear to face them simply because we are poor?"
"I think, Mrs. Atherley," he said, quietly, "that you are very rich, far richer than many a mère de famille we shall meet at the restaurant."
This neat compliment turned the scale of the mother's hesitation. Indeed, she might well be proud of her beautiful daughter.
The two ladies seated themselves in the luxurious landau with an ease that showed familiarity, but Mrs. Atherley, being a woman, could not help being troubled in the matter of dress.
"The Savoy!" she murmured, as the rubber-tired vehicle glided away noiselessly. "I have not been there for years. And people at supper are always attired so fashionably. Could we not——"
The girl put her arm around her waist.