"Now, thin—look alive yer honors," cried the car-driver, and a scramble into seats instantly began. In his own mind, Sir Victor had determined his seat should be by Miss Darrell's side. But what is man's determination beside woman's resolve?
"Oh, p-please, Sir Victor," cries Miss Stuart, in a piteous little voice, "do help me up. It's so dreadfully high, and I know I shall fall off. And oh, please, do sit here, and point out the places as we go along—one enjoys places, so much more, when some one points them out, and you've been along here before."
What could Sir Victor do? More particularly as Lady Helena good-humoredly chimed in:
"Yes, Victor, come and point out the places. You shall sit bodkin, between Miss Beatrix and me. Your friend in the Tweed suit, can sit next, and you, my dear Mrs. Stuart—where will you sit?"
"As Charley and Edith will have all the other side to themselves," said meek Mrs. Stuart, "I guess I'll sit beside Edith."
"Ay, ay," chimed in her spouse, "and I'll mount with cabby. All serene, there, behind? Then away we go!"
Away they went, clattering over the road, with the whole tatterdemalion population of Macroom after, shouting for "ha' pennies."
"Rags enough to set up a paper-mill," suggested Charley, "and all the noses turn-ups! Edith, how do you like this arrangement?"
"I think Trixy's cleverer than I ever gave her credit for," laughed
Edith; "it's a pity so much diplomacy should be 'love's labor lost.'"
"Poor Trixy! She means well too. Honor thy father, that thy days may be long in the land. She's only trying to fulfil the command. And you think she has no chance?"