Ambrose, hemmed in by cohorts of inimical figures, was quite unable to say. He wished he had chosen a position which would permit him a better opportunity for evasion, one by the door leading to the drive, for instance.
Imperia did not appear to be put out by his silence. It is probable in any case that she regarded her question as purely rhetorical.
The vulgarity of it, she moaned, isn't it, that a guest of mine should consent to drive into Hollywood on a milkwagon and then to fall off this wagon in the presence of a hooting, screeching mob! I'll never get over the shame of it. The crowd—I can see them now—pointing to you, and through you at me! Laughing at my stinginess, that I would not let my guest use my motor. They'll laugh at me everywhere. My career is over, done, dead. I am made ridiculous, and by the man I befriended. She began to sob softly.
Ambrose, unprepared for so vindictive an attack, protested: There wasn't any crowd. Nobody saw me but Ringrose. Besides, nobody knew me.
Hang it, Imperia, Ringrose cried, I didn't tell you there was a crowd. That's not . . .
Know you! Of course they knew you! Didn't Herbert know you when he met you on the train? Didn't
