A quick flush overspread James Polydore’s already rubicund countenance, and he blinked his eyes in a special “manner” which he was accustomed to use when feigning great moral rectitude. More than ever convinced that his visitor was insane, he continued to talk on in blandly soothing accents:
“Ah, I see your car? And no one with you? Dear, dear! I wish I could escort you to—to wherever you are going——”
“No, you don’t—not just now!” said Diana, laughing. “You’re too scared! But perhaps another time——”
She swung lightly away from him, and moved with her floating grace of step along the drive to the carriage gate, where the car waited. The driver jumped down and opened the door for her. She sprang in, while James Polydore, panting after her, caught the chauffeur by the coat-sleeve.
“I don’t think this young lady knows where she is going,” he said, confidentially. “Where did you find her?”
The chauffeur stared.
“She’s at our hotel,” he answered—“And I’m driving her back there.”
Here Diana put her head out of the window,—her fair face radiant with smiles.
“You see, it’s all right!” she said—“Don’t bother about me! You know the——Hotel looking over the Park? Well, I’m there just now, but not for long?”
“No, I’m sure not for long!” thought the bewildered James Polydore. “You’ll be put in a ‘home’ for mental cases if you haven’t run away from one already!” And it was with a great sense of relief that he watched the chauffeur “winding up” and preparing to move off—the lunatic would have no chance to “bite” him, as his wife had suggested! But how beautiful she was! For the life of him he could not forbear treating her to one of his “conquering” smiles.