“Down to see Madame Yvonett,” Janet’s piquant face dimpled into a smiling welcome.
“Fine! I was just on the way to her house myself; jump in and I’ll take you there.”
“All right, thanks.” Janet climbed into the motor car, and after arranging the rug over her lap, Tom took his seat behind the steering wheel, and in a second more they were off. At the corner of Scott Circle Tom slackened speed.
“Suppose we go for a spin first,” he coaxed. “It’s a glorious day for a run in the country.”
“But I promised to meet Marjorie——”
“Well, so you can,” cutting her objection short. “If we get there by half-past five it will be time enough; Cousin Yvonett always has a late dinner. Besides, it’s always better to be late at a party, it insures a warm welcome.”
“Sometimes too warm a one,” laughed Janet “What will mother say to my going motoring with you and leaving Marjorie behind?”
“Oh, your mother won’t mind, I’m only Marjorie’s cousin,” carelessly. “I’m sure your physician will prescribe plenty of ozone after last night’s dance, and the air’s glorious today, do come?”
Janet wavered. She was pretty certain her mother would not approve, but—it was a perfect winter’s day, clear and bracing; she was tired of a stuffy house, and then—and then she admired and liked Tom Nichols. Her warm blood pulsed a trifle faster, then ebbed more slowly. Was it disloyal to Chichester Barnard to crave the presence of another man? She put the thought from her with frowning impatience.
“I can go a little distance,” she conceded.