'Oh, no, thank you.'
'Parsons, open the door.'
The chauffeur sprang quickly from his place behind the wheel and flung open wide the door in front of Sheilah. Sheilah felt like a mouse being scuttled into a trap. She looked helplessly to left and right. The car in front had begun to move. She heard the shrill, impatient whistle of the policeman.
'Get in, my dear,' ordered Cicely, 'You're holding up the traffic.'
'But I'm only going as far as the subway,' Sheilah objected as she sank into the cushioned seat beside Cicely.
'I'll drop you anywhere,' said Cicely.
But Cicely didn't drop Sheilah until they had reached a wooden apartment house, in such a row of wooden apartment houses as Cicely had never dropped any one before.
Too tactful to refer to the number of Sheilah's packages, or to remark upon how tired and ill she looked, Cicely had made excuse that she had long been intending to look Sheilah up, and here was the very opportunity! She had finished her shopping, was, in fact, on her way home. She had no dinner engagement. She didn't care when she reached Wallbridge.
'But the trolley-cars take me within a block of my door,' said Sheilah.
