Several conveyances had halted, for the occupants to see what the trouble was. From one of them—an automobile—a large, well-dressed man strode over and greeted Larcher with the words:
“How are you? Had an accident?”
It was Mr. Bagley. Larcher briefly answered, “Broken axle.”
“Well,” said Edna, annoyed at being the centre of a crowd, “I suppose we'd better walk over to Fifth Avenue and take a cab.”
“You're quite welcome to the use of my automobile for your party,” said Bagley to Larcher, having swiftly inspected the members of that party.
As Edna, hearing this, glanced at Bagley with interest, and at Larcher with inquiry, Larcher felt it was his cue to introduce the newcomer. He did so, with no very good grace. At the name of Bagley, the girls exchanged a look. Mr. Kenby's manner was gracious, as was natural toward a man who owned an automobile and had an air of money.
“I'm sorry you've had this break-down,” said Bagley, addressing the party collectively. “Won't you do me the honor of using my car? You're not likely to find an open carriage in this neighborhood.”
“Thank you,” said Edna Hill, chillily. “We can't think of putting you out.”
“Oh, you won't put me out. There's nobody but me and the chauffeur. My car holds six people. I can't allow you to go for a carriage when mine's here waiting. It wouldn't be right. I can set you all down at your homes without any trouble.”
During this speech, Bagley's eyes had rested first on Edna, then on Mr. Kenby, and finally, for a longer time, on Florence. At the end, they went back to Mr. Kenby, as if putting the office of reply on him.