“What would a heroine have to do?” queried Jane. “I mean a model heroine?”
“Oh, just give me a chance to study her, and let me pay her for it,” he answered, coolly. “I work in a small bungalow, and if she’d give me some sittings——” But once more the voice of the horn broke in—a long, reproachful, plaintive note this time. Mrs. De Mille rose, reluctantly. “I really must go, or Johnson will ruin his voice,” she said. Then she had a sudden inspiration. “You’re going to Rosemount,” she said to the man. “Why can’t we take you there? I’d like to do something to pay for that delicious meal.”
“You’ve paid me a thousandfold by accepting it,” he answered, quickly. “I couldn’t think of putting you to any trouble.”
“It isn’t any trouble,” she answered, positively. “There’s plenty of room in the car.” The man’s face showed signs of yielding.
“Come,” she commanded, imperiously; and he stooped and gathered up the hamper and his book and followed her down the road.
“Johnson,” Mrs. De Mille called to the chauffeur, who was sitting in the car like patience on a monument, but without the smile, “this gentleman has saved me from starvation, and he’s now going to save you; for in this hamper, Johnson, are three of the most delicious sandwiches you ever ate. Hustle them down as quickly as you can, and then we’ll repay his generosity by giving him a lift to Rosemount.”
When the car was well under way, Jane turned impressively to her new acquaintance. “And now I want to ask you,” she said, “if you think I’d do for the heroine?”
“It’s been my wish ever since I first set eyes on you,” he answered, calmly. “I’m in great luck.”
“And the Willoughbys,” said Jane, cheerfully, “will be in a rage, so it’s a delightful arrangement all around.”