"Just the people I was looking for!" she exclaimed. "I want you all to
know my great friend, Mr. Wingate from New York."
Every one was glad to meet Wingate, and Kendrick and he exchanged the
greetings of old friends.
"Now you have found some one whom you can talk to, my dear John," his
hostess declared. "I shall consider you off my hands for the afternoon.
Come and dine with me next Sunday night, and don't lose your heart to
Sarah Baldwin. She's a capricious little minx, and, besides, she's
engaged to Jimmy there, though heaven knows whether they'll ever get
married.--There! I knew it! My own particular Bishop being lured into
conversation with Hilda Sutton, who's just become a freethinker and can't
talk of anything else. It will spoil the dear man's afternoon if she gets
really started.--Good-by, all of you. Take care of Mr. Wingate."
She hurried off, and the newcomer seated himself between Kendrick
and Sarah.
"We've just been hearing all about you, Mr. Wingate," Sarah began, "but
I must say you're the last person we expected to see here. We imagined
you dashing in a great motor-car from Liverpool to your office in the
City, dictating letters, speaking into the telephone, and doing all
sorts of violent things. I don't believe Mr. Kendrick told us the truth
about you at all."
Wingate smiled good-humouredly.
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