VIII
“Tuck, my boy, you should cultivate the art of music!” cried Hood as Deering reappeared, somewhat pale but resigned to an unknown fate, in the drawing-room. “And now that ten has struck we must be on our way. Madam, will you ring for Cassowary, the prince of chauffeurs, as we must leave your hospitable home at once?” He began making his adieus with the greatest formality.
“Mr. Tuck,” said the mistress of the house as Deering gave her a limp hand, “you have conferred the greatest honor upon us. Please never pass our door without stopping.”
“To-morrow,” he said, turning to Pierrette, “I shall find you to-morrow, either here or in the Dipper!”
“Before you see me or the Dipper again, many things may happen!” she laughed.
The trio—the absurd little Pantaloon; Columbine, laughing and gracious to the last, and Pierrette, smiling, charming, adorable—cheerily called good night from the door as Cassowary sent the car hurrying out of the grounds.
“Well, what do you think of the life of freedom now?” demanded Hood as the car reached the open road. “Begin to have a little faith in me, eh?”
“Well, you seemed to put it over,” Deering admitted grudgingly. “But I can’t go on this way, Hood; I really can’t stand it. I’ve got to quit right now!”