“Your kindness is most opportune, sir,” said Mr. Kenby, mustering cordiality enough to make up for the coldness of the others. “I'm not at my best to-day, and if I had to walk any distance, or wait here in the cold, I don't know what would happen.”
He started at once for the automobile, and there was nothing for the girls to do, short of prudery or haughtiness, but follow him; nor for Larcher to do but follow the girls.
Bagley sat in front with the chauffeur, but, as the car flew along, he turned half round to keep up a shouting conversation with Mr. Kenby. His glance went far enough to take in Florence, who shared the rear seat with Edna. The spirits of the girls rose in response to the swift motion, and Edna had so far recovered her merriment by the time her house was reached, as to be sorry to get down. The party was to have had tea in her flat; but Mr. Kenby decided he would rather go directly home by automobile than wait and proceed otherwise. So he left Florence to the escort of Larcher, and remained as Mr. Bagley's sole passenger.
“That was the Mr. Bagley, was it?” asked Florence, as the three young people turned into the house.
“Yes,” said Larcher. “I ought to have got rid of him, I suppose. But Edna's look was so imperative.”
“I didn't know who he was, then,” put in Edna.
“But after all, there was no harm in using his automobile.”
“Why, he as much as accused Murray Davenport of absconding with his money,” said Florence, with a reproachful look at Edna.
“Oh, well, he couldn't understand, dear. He only knew that the money and the man were missing. He could think of only one explanation,—men like that are so unimaginative and businesslike. He's a bold, coarse-looking creature. We sha'n't see anything more of him.”
“I trust not,” said Larcher; “but he's one of the pushful sort. He doesn't know when he's snubbed. He thinks money will admit a man anywhere. I'm sorry he turned up at that moment.”