"Is Willcox safe, do you think?"
Willcox was the Cadells' chauffeur. He despised the family whom he served, realizing with the flair of his kind their status as parvenu. But he made an exception of Cydonia. Her sweet voice and well-bred face induced in him the belief of blue blood—achieved by some worthy misdemeanor!
The girl, aware of his silent worship, welcomed the sight of him with relief.
"He'll say nothing—how splendid! I'll just get into the car and wait."
McTaggart agreed. "You can explain you saw your Father go into the Gallery. And, as you felt tired, dispatched Mason to do your shopping, while you rested."
"Yes. That's it." She nodded her head. "Please go now. He might come out. You know what a rush he's always in."
She reached the carriage breathlessly, with a glance at the chauffeur's impassive face.
"Willcox—I'll wait inside. Mr. Cadell won't be long."
McTaggart tucked the rug around her.
"To-morrow," he whispered, "at Lady Leason's." Then, out loud, "Good-bye, Miss Cadell—I won't forget your Mother's dance."