“It’s not for me,” she explained, “but for my driver—he’s got an awful cough; I’ve been listening to it up here all the time. Could you send him a glass?”
South laid his hand on the bell.
“What driver?” he said.
“The man on my hansom; he’s been waiting for me.”
“Why do you keep him?”
“I don’t. Veynes does.”
“Is Veynes in the cab?”
“No, no, silly!—it’s Veynes’ hansom; he sent it round for me. The driver of Veynes’ hansom has a cough, you have some brandy, and I want you to send it down by your man to the driver, that his cough may be stayed. Now do you understand?”
“No, I do not,” he said; but he did as she desired.
“I suppose that is a fresh indiscretion,” she remarked, as the man retired.