"My car is outside," Dorning offered eagerly. "I—that is, Rodrigo—will drive you home."
"Don't bother, please, either of you," she replied. "I'd be frightened to ride with Count Torriani. He flashed by me the other day so rapidly that he did not see me at all."
This, Rodrigo knew, was a prevarication. He had not driven a car in any park anywhere since Elise Van Zile's arrival in New York.
"I know," Dorning laughed. "He does drive like a comet. But—er—I'm a regular snail at the wheel. If Rodrigo doesn't mind——"
"He doesn't," Rodrigo cut in rather sullenly.
John turned eagerly toward her, and she said gayly, "Very well, Mr. Dorning, and you may drive just as slowly and carefully as you know how."
"Fine," returned John. "We'll take a turn in the park on the way. It's a wonderful afternoon." He hurried to open the door for her.
"Good afternoon, Count Torriani, the tea was delicious," she said suavely, dark, ironic eyes upon his grave face. He glanced at the undisturbed tea things upon the little taboret, shrugged his shoulders, and bent over her hand. Vexed as he was with her, he could not kiss her hand without feeling a little emotion within him.
He watched her disappear into the hall. To John Dorning, following her, he called suddenly, "John, you'll need your hat, won't you?" John shamefacedly returned for it. Rodrigo handed it to him with a smile.
Rodrigo sank down into a comfortable chair, lighted a cigarette, and thoughtfully poured himself a cup of the neglected tea.