“I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Holt. I'm a rather busy man, and nothing of a public speaker, and it is rarely I get off in the daytime.”
“How about automobiling?” asked Mrs. Holt, with a smile.
“Well,” said Trixton Brent, laughing in spite of himself, “I like the working girls, I have to have a little excitement occasionally. And I find it easier to get off in the summer than in the winter.”
“Men cover a multitude of sins under the plea of business,” said Mrs. Holt, shaking her head. “I can't say I think much of your method of distraction. Why any one desires to get into an automobile, I don't see.”
“Have you ever been in one?” he asked. “Mine is here, and I was about to invite you to go down to the ferry in it. I'll promise to go slow.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Holt, “I don't object to going that distance, if you keep your promise. I'll admit that I've always had a curiosity.”
“And in return,” said Brent, gallantly, “allow me to send you a cheque for your working girls.”
“You're very good,” said Mrs. Holt.
“Oh,” he protested, “I'm not in the habit of giving much to charities, I'm sorry to say. I'd like to know how it feels.”
“Then I hope the sensation will induce you to try it again,” said Mrs. Holt.