“Then what’s to prevent?”
She looked down, tracing a pattern with the toe of her boot.
[257]
] “Please—I—thanks just the same,” she brought out finally.
She took a step toward the curb, away from him.
And just then came one of those feathery gusts that send whirling the wheel of fate. Miss Mariette Mallard and Grace issued from the stage door, their exchange of glances telling too plainly that they were still enjoying the laugh at her expense. At the curb waited a limousine quite overshadowed by the gorgeousness of the big yellow touring car. They drew near, still giggling.
Swift as a bird, Sallie veered back to him. Instantly he was at her side.
“You can take me home”—it was breathless—“I’ll let you do that.”
Eagerly he helped her in, took his place at the wheel. Sallie turned with the air of royalty. With the sweetest of smiles, her head inclined in the direction of the two girls. As the car sped round the corner she saw them halt abruptly and, like Lot’s wife, stand rooted where
they stopped.