“I feel as if I were out on the spree,” he said aloud.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” the chauffeur said politely.
“Don’t mention it. What a very fine car you drive.”
“Yes, sir. It’s a sixty horse Magnus,” the man answered proudly, and then proceeded to tell the numerous good points his car possessed over every other in the market.
Drake listened with a pleased smile, for he was enjoying himself immensely.
“I wonder if I might sit in front with you?” he remarked ingratiatingly, and the chauffeur put on the brake. “I like to watch you working the pedals.”
But Drake sighed a little when the car stopped before the Gaunt palace, as though his holiday had come to an end. But it was not so, for lunch was ready, and the millionaire and himself were alone. How dainty everything was! Not too much magnificence for comfort. Then the food and the wine. Drake was no gourmet, but he liked his meals to be nicely cooked and would always prefer a bottle of beer to a cheap claret.
“I suppose this wine is very expensive,” he said reflectively, and then blushed furiously as he realized the bad taste of his remark. “Forgive me, Mr. Gaunt, but I so seldom eat with any one that I fear I get in the habit of talking to myself.”
Gaunt smiled, for he was beginning to feel a liking for Edward Drake. There had been a little doubt when he had sent the letter, but the doubt had quickly disappeared now that they had been together for a while.
“Do you smoke?” Gaunt asked abruptly.