There was something amiss with his motor, for it made a startling racket in the street, finally plunging forward with a kick.
Lydia laughed as the two young girls in the tonneau turned to nod to her in mock despair; then she came running back up-stairs, holding her skirt free from her hurrying little feet.
“Well?” she inquired, as Mortimer turned back from the window to confront her.
“Nothing doing, little girl,” he said with a sombre smile.
She looked at him, slowly divesting herself of her light leather-trimmed coat.
“I missed him,” said Mortimer.
She flung the coat over a chair, stood a moment, her fingers busy with her hair-pegs, then sat down on the couch, taking Tinto into her lap. She was very pretty, dark, slim, marvellously graceful in her every movement.
“I missed him,” repeated Mortimer.
“Can't you see him to-morrow?” she asked.
“I suppose so,” said Mortimer slowly. “Oh, Lord! how I hate this business!”