"Just for once, mamma, you shall not care a little bit, and none may be the wiser. Here is Mr. Anson—quite an élégant himself—he would never guess that our gowns were homemade."
"The women, dear one. They will know."
"Oh, you deceiver! You said my toilet was perfect, and I am quite sure yours is."
This logic was incontrovertible. Mrs. Atherley sighed, and asked what took place the previous night.
Philip imagined that the girl hung back, so he boldly undertook an explanation. By describing the cabman as apparently intoxicated, and certainly impudent, he covered a good deal of ground, and the rest was easy.
When they reached the Savoy, the anxious mother had relegated the incident to the limbo of unimportant things. Only one other matter troubled her—the somewhat unconventional origin of her daughter's acquaintance with this pleasant-mannered young gentleman.
She was far too tactful to hint at such a point just then. It should be reserved for home discussion.
Meanwhile, they were early arrivals. The head waiter marshaled them to a window table. Mrs. Atherley smiled; she knew her London.
"You were sure we would accompany you?" she cried.
"Not at all sure; only hopeful," said Philip.