"However," continued Sir Thomas, "there's room for either you or——"
"Pitt," said Jimmy. "P—i double t."
Sir Thomas bowed.
"In front with the chauffeur, if you care to take the seat."
"I'll walk," said Jimmy. "I'd rather."
"Frightfully good of you, old chap," whispered Spennie. "Sure you don't mind? I do hate walking, and my foot's hurting fearfully."
"Which is my way?"
"Straight as you can go. You go to the——"
"Spennie," said Sir Thomas suavely, "your aunt expresses a wish to arrive at the abbey in time for dinner. If you could manage to come to some arrangement about that seat——"
Spennie climbed hurriedly into the automobile. The last Jimmy saw of him was a hasty vision of him being prodded in the ribs by Lady Blunt's parasol, while its owner said something to him which, judging by his attitude, was not pleasant.