“Don’t bother. Where shall I send his letter?”
Well, it seemed he had an apartment at the Arcade, and I rang off. It was after eleven by that time, and by the time I had got into my school mackintosh and found a heavy veil of mother’s and put it on, it was almost half past.
The house was quiet, and as Patrick had gone, there was no one around in the lower Hall. I slipped out and closed the door behind me, and looked for a taxicab, but the veil was so heavy that I hailed our own limousine, and Smith had drawn up at the curb before I knew him.
“Where to, lady?” he said. “This is a private car, but I’ll take you anywhere in the city for a dollar.”
A flush of just indignation rose to my cheek, at the knowledge that Smith was using our car for a taxicab! And just as I was about to speak to him severely, and threaten to tell father, I remembered, and walked away.
“Make it seventy-five cents,” he called after me. But I went on. It was terrable to think that Smith could go on renting our car to all sorts of people, covered with germs and everything, and that I could never report it to the Familey.
I got a real taxi at last, and got out at the Arcade, giving the man a quarter, although ten cents would have been plenty as a tip.
I looked at him, and I felt that he could be trusted.
“This,” I said, holding up the money, “is the price of Silence.”
But if he was trustworthy he was not subtile, and he said: