motoring and would like to settle down and have some gaiety."
"I'm not tired of motoring," she exclaimed, "and I'm not pining for gaiety. I think this sort of free, open-air life, with big horizons round one, spoils one for dancing and dressing and flir—and all that. I should love just to have a glimpse of the Riviera, and then go on. But I hadn't thought of it, and I'm not sure if it could be managed. I'd have to reflect upon the idea a little, and cable my father to see if he were willing. Not that there'd be much trouble about that. He trusts me, and almost always lets me do what I like. But supposing—just supposing I changed my plans—would Mr. Winston be willing to let me keep his car longer?"
"As much longer as you choose," said I eagerly. "He doesn't want it in England till next summer. I'm certain of that."
"Well, then, I must think it over," she answered. "Oh, it would be glorious! Yet—I don't know. Anyway, we must take Lady Brighthelmston, Mr. Winston's mother, a drive on her son's car when we get to Cannes. She is staying there."
"Oh, is she?" I said aloud. And inwardly I prayed that I might see the lady in question in private before that invitation was given. But perhaps she will have flitted. I wonder?
Well, I have given you the principal points of our conversation enough to show you why I am happy to-night. But if you could have seen me cutting up the Goddess's filet mignon! I could have shed tears of joy on it.
