The man who was going to
marry Miss Thursdale and the man who wanted to marry her were
advancing to shake hands--a trifle awkwardly, perhaps, but more or
less frankly.
"Rough weather for motoring," remarked Dauntless, nervously.
Windomshire removed his cap and goggles.
"Beastly. I just ran over for something to warm the inside man. Won't
you join me?" His voice was pleasant to the ear, his manner easy and
appealing. He was not so good looking as Dauntless, true, but he had
the air of a thoroughbred in his make-up--from head to foot.
"Sit down here," called Mrs. Scudaway readily, creating a general
shift of chairs. The two men hesitated a moment, nervousness apparent
in both, and then sat down quickly. The Englishman was next Mrs.
Scudaway. "What were you doing out in the rain?" she asked after the
order for drinks had been taken.
"Hurrying to get out of it," he said with evasive good humour, "and
thinking how much nicer your fogs are than ours," he added quickly.
"Anybody come over with you?" asked the bore, agreeably.
"No, they're playing bridge over at Mrs. Thursdale's and that lets me
out. Beastly headache, too.
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