“Willoughby” stopped the engine and turned to face the tonneau. “I’m doing just that, driving your car, here in Vineclad, in New York, in the United States of America, and I admit it is most amazing,” he said.
“Why are you wearing those ridiculous whiskers?” Mrs. Garden cried, and Mary sat dumfounded.
“I didn’t think you’d find me out, not at once,” “Willoughby” said plaintively.
“How childish you are!” Mrs. Garden said, half laughing, yet evidently annoyed. “Pray tell me how you found me, and why you came here in this silly fashion?”
“Miss Lynette Devon—Mrs. Garden—didn’t you order me not to come where you were again?” asked this extraordinary masquerading chauffeur. “Very well; I came to America, not knowing you were coming here, because it was hard on me to stay in England and not see you. I saw an item in a Sunday paper in New York last week saying you were in Vineclad, New York; known in private life as Mrs. Elias Garden.”
“Oh, Audrey’s correspondence!” interrupted Mrs. Garden.
“Really, I don’t know,” said “Willoughby,” with his strongest Oxford accent. “In another sheet I saw that you were advertising for a man to drive your car, that ‘Mrs. Elias Garden, in Vineclad,’ sought a man who would drive for her and take care of a garden. ‘My word, Wilfrid, my boy,’ I said to myself, ‘there’s your chance to get into Miss Devon’s presence and be near her for a few days, at least, undiscovered!’ I applied for the position, your brother-in-law selected me out of several applicants—he’s a discerning young chap, that brother of yours!—and I had the pleasure of bringing up your new car, your two lovely children—and of seeing you! Lynette, Miss Devon—oh, bother these names!—Mrs. Garden, won’t you forgive me and let me stay?”
“As my chauffeur? Hardly, Lord Wilfrid! And certainly not as my guest. Kindly drive us home and let me speed your departure, after you have breakfasted with us. If you were determined to disobey my distinct prohibition to see me again, whatever did you do it for so foolishly? Why didn’t you call on me, like a sensible man?” asked Mrs. Garden, with reason.
“Because I’m not sensible about you! Because I thought this would prove to what length I was willing to go to get into your presence! Because it was so unusual, so removed from the commonplace. Doesn’t the romance appeal to you, Lynette Devon Garden?” Lord Wilfrid pleaded.
“It certainly does not!” cried Mrs. Garden, breaking into laughter, in which Mary struggled not to join.