"My raincoat, Kemp," he said, and strode forth across the platform, a creature as shining and splendid as ever trod its boards.
Becky, beholding him, asked, "Is that Major Prime?"
"No, thank Heaven."
Jefferson, steering the Major expertly, came up at this moment. Then, splashing down the red road whirled the gorgeous limousine. There were two men on the box. Kemp, who had been fluttering around Dalton with an umbrella, darted into the waiting-room for the bags. The door of the limousine was opened by the footman, who also had an umbrella ready. Dalton hesitated, his eyes on that shabby group by the mud-stained surrey. He made up his mind suddenly and approached young Paine.
"We can take one of you in here. You'll be crowded with all of those bags."
"Not a bit. We'll manage perfectly, thank you," Randy's voice dismissed him.
He went, with a lingering glance backward. Becky, catching that glance, waked suddenly to the fact that he was very good-looking. "It was kind of him to offer, Randy."
"Was it?"
Nothing more was said, but Becky wondered a bit as they drove on. She liked Major Prime. He was an old dear. But why had Randy thanked Heaven that the other man was not the Major?