The Princess Passes | Page 3

squeak, for I had forgotten her rings.
"What! Aren't you coming?" asked Jack.
"We really want you," said Molly. "Please let us take you home with
us--to supper."
"We've just finished dinner," I objected weakly.
"That makes no difference. Eating is only an incident of supper. It's a
meal which consists of conversation. Look, here's the car. Isn't she a
beauty? Can you resist her? Such a dear darling of a girl gave her to me,

a girl you would love. Can you resist Mercédès?"
"I could resist anything if I could resist you. But seriously, though
you're very good, I think I'll walk to the Albany, and--and go to bed."
"What nonsense! As if you would. You're quite a clever actor, Lord
Lane, and might deceive a man, but--I'm a woman. Jack and I want to
talk to you about--about that walking tour."
It would have been ungracious to refuse, since she had set her heart
upon a rescue. The chauffeur who had brought round the motor
surrendered his place to Molly, whom Jack had taught to drive the new
car, and I was given the seat of honour beside her. By this time the
streets were comparatively clear of traffic, and we shot away as if we
had been propelled from a catapult, Molly contriving to combine a
rippling flow of words with intricate tricks of steering, in an
extraordinary fashion which I would defy any male expert to imitate
without committing suicide and murder.
I was a determined enemy of motor cars, as Jack knew, and thus far had
avoided treachery to my favourite animal by never setting foot in one.
But to-night I was past nice distinctions, and besides, I rather hoped
that Molly and her Mercédès would kill me. My nerves were too numb
to tell my brain of any remarkable sensations in the new experience, but
I remember feeling cheated out of what I had been led to expect, when
without any tragic event Molly stopped the car before their house in
Park Lane--another and bigger wedding present.
It was a brand-new toy bestowed by millionaire Chauncey Randolph on
his one fair daughter. Jack and Molly Winston had been married in
New York in June (when I would have been best man had it not been
for Helen), had spent their honeymoon somewhere in the bride's native
country, and had come "home" to England only a little more than a
fortnight ago. Jack's father, Lord Brighthelmston, had furnished the
house as his gift to the bride, and as he is a famous connoisseur and
collector, his taste, combined with Lady Brighthelmston's management,
had resulted in perfection. Already I had been taken from cellar to attic
and shown everything, so that to-night there was no need to admire.

We went into the dining-room; why, I do not know, unless that sitting
round a table in the company of friends opens the heart and loosens the
tongue. I have reason to believe that on the table there were things to
eat, and especially to drink, but we gave them the cut direct, though I
recall vaguely the fizz of soda shooting from the syphon, and
afterwards holding a glass in my hand.
"Do you mind my saying what I think of Lady Blantock and her
daughter?" inquired Molly, with the meek sweetness of a coaxing child.
"Perhaps I oughtn't, but it would be a relief to my feelings."
"I wonder if it would to mine?" I remarked impersonally, addressing
the ancient tapestry on an opposite wall.
"Let's try, and see," persisted Molly. "Calculating Cats! There, it's out. I
wouldn't have eaten their old dinner, except to please you. I've known
them only thirteen days, but I could have said the same thing when I'd
known them thirteen minutes. Indeed, I'm not sure I didn't say it to Jack.
Did I, or did I not. Lightning Conductor?"
"You did," replied the person addressed, answering with a smile to the
name which he had earned in playing the part of Molly Randolph's
chauffeur, in the making of their love story.
"Women always know things about each other--the sort of things the
others don't want them to know," Molly went on; "but there's no use in
our warning men who think they are in love with Calculating Cats,
because they would be certain we were jealous. Of course I shouldn't
say this to you, Lord Lane, if you hadn't taken me into your confidence
a little--that night of my first London ball."
"It was the night I proposed to Nell," I said, half to myself.
"Sir Horace Jerveyson was at the ball, too."
"Talking to Lady Blantock."
"And looking at Miss Blantock. I noticed, and--I put things together."

"Who would ever have thought of putting those two together?"
"I did. I said