“Where are you going now?”
“Right to the Savoy.”
Without another word, hatless as he was, he got into the motor and closed the door.
“I’m going to take you home,” he informed her quietly, “and there’s no use in looking at me like that either! When I’m set on a thing I get it!”
They rolled away in the bland sunset, passed the park, down Piccadilly, where the flowers in the streets were so sweet that they made the heart ache, and the air through the window was so sweet that it made the senses swim!
CHAPTER XVIII—A WOMAN’S WAY
When the duchess thought of looking for Blair later in the afternoon he was not to be found. Galorey told her finally he had gone off in the motor with Letty Lane, bareheaded. The duchess was bidding good-by to the last guest; she motioned Galorey to wait and he did so, and they found themselves alone in the room where the flowers, still fresh, offered their silent company; the druggets strewn with leaves of smilax, the open piano with its scattered music, the dark rosewood that had served for a rest for Letty Lane’s white hand. Galorey and the duchess turned their backs on the music-room, and went into a small conservatory looking out over the park.
“He’s nothing but a cowboy,” the lady exclaimed. “He must be quite mad, going off bareheaded through London with an actress.”
“He’s spoiled,” Lord Galorey said peacefully.
She carried a bunch of orchids Dan had given her, and regarded them absently. “I’ve made him angry, and he’s taking this way of exhibiting his spleen.”