Shortly before five Isabel heard the horn of the returning car. She ran to a mirror and gazed at her reflection with new interest, for after useless struggle with Fate she had decided to let Philip Barry cross the water. The telegram had been sent to New York and soon her message would vibrate over the Atlantic cable. Early in the afternoon she had overhauled gowns not intended to be worn until several months later. Her changed toilet was a matter of significance, almost a challenge to her aunt, who would readily construe a transformation from half mourning to violet crepe and amethysts. She listened to the horn, dreading an ordeal. Fortunately, intuitions concerning Mrs. Grace always developed her own mastery. And to-day Isabel ignored the aunt's startled expression and crude outcry, as she hastened on to meet arriving guests.
"So glad to see you looking so well!" cried Gay Lewis, a school acquaintance of years back. "I was afraid we might be late! But luck is on our side, and with my mother, who so wishes to know you, are our very dear friends, Mrs. Hartley and her son." Miss Lewis assumed social responsibility with ease. While Mrs. Doan received the ladies, she fairly drove the man—or rather youth—of the party forward.
"Let me present you, Ned. And remember! I am doing something very sweet. Mrs. Doan is a darling to have us for tea; do you not think so?"
"You were kind to come," said Isabel, looking at young Hartley. "How did you manage to hit the hour exactly? Was there no trial of patience underneath your machine?"
"Not the least," Miss Lewis volunteered, as the strangers went onward to an immense living-room. "You should have joined us, not stayed at home on a day like this!"
Hartley's adoring eyes renewed a previous invitation. "You will come next time—to-morrow?" he implored.
"Have we not had a delicious run?" said Miss Lewis, speaking to the older women, relaxing in chairs and ready for tea.
"Yes, indeed," said her mother. "Everything has been perfect."
"And Mr. Hartley is such a precious driver," the daughter went on. "He left his chauffeur on the road—came home alone—without a mishap! You may fancy his skill from the time we made—ninety-nine miles, was it not? Yes, of course! a regular bargain run. And we started so late; not until after ten, with luncheon at one. Part of our way was simply drenched with fresh oil."
"Just like a greasy river," Mrs. Grace complained.