"
"It isn't as though she could drive," Maurice White put in. "There isn't
an insurance company in London will take her on as a risk."
Sarah glanced from one to the other in well-assumed viciousness.
"Don't I hate you all!" she exclaimed bitterly. "I can understand Jimmy,
because he likes me to drive him all the time, but you others, who aren't
regular clients at all, why you should butt in and try to spoil my
chances, I can't think. Mr. Wingate is just my conception of the ideal
fare--generous, affable, and with trans-Atlantic notions about tips. I
shall send you my card, all the same, Mr. Wingate."
"And I hope," Josephine said, "that Mr. Wingate will not take the
slightest notice of all the rubbish these unkind people have been saying.
Miss Baldwin drives me continually and has given me every satisfaction."
"'Every satisfaction' I love," Sarah declared. "I shall have that
framed."
"Any chance of your taking me back to the Milan?" Wingate enquired.
Sarah shook her head regretfully, glancing down at her muslin gown.
"Can't you see I'm in my party clothes?" she said. "I did bring the old
'bus down here, but I had a boy meet me and take it away. I'll send you
my card and telephone number, Mr. Wingate. You can rely upon my
punctuality and dispatch. Even my aunt here would give me a reference,
if pressed," she added, as their hostess paused for a moment to whisper
something in Josephine's ear.
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