By ten-thirty the next morning the car, overhauled and cleaned, was at the door, our new chauffeur at the wheel, ready for the run south.
THE BEST OF INDIANAPOLIS
I carried my bags down, put them into the car, and sat in it to wait. Franklin was off somewhere, in the heart of the village, arranging something. Suddenly I heard a voice. It had the tone I expected. Actually, I had anticipated it, in a psychic way. Looking up and across a space of lawn two houses away, I saw the second girl of this meeting place standing out under an apple tree, with a little boy beside her, an infant the Speed family had adopted.
She was most gay in her dress and mood—something eery and sylph-like.
“Aren’t you coming over to say goodby?” she called.
I jumped up, ashamed of my lack of gallantry, and yet excusing myself on the ground that I was too timid to intrude before, and strolled over. She received me with a disturbed cordiality which was charming.
“It’s right mean of you,” she said.
“I was coming,” I protested, “only I expected to put it over until Thursday—on my way back. That sounds rather bad, doesn’t it, but really I wanted to come, only I was a little bit afraid.”
“You—afraid?”