"I say, Windomshire, what's the name of that pretty governess over at
Thursdale's?" asked the busy bore. "Saw her this morning."
The Englishman looked down and flecked the ashes from his cigarette
before answering.
"Miss Courtenay," he responded.
"She's a corking pretty girl." Windomshire went through the
unnecessary act of flecking ashes again, but said nothing in reply.
"Are there any more at home like her?" with a fine chuckle in behalf
of his wit.
"She's of a very good family, I believe," said Windomshire, looking
about helplessly. Mrs. Scudaway caught the look in his eyes and
remembered that English gentlemen are not supposed to discuss women
outside of their own set.
"It must be time for the 'bus," she said. "We're all going in by the
10.10, Mr. Windomshire."
"Can't I take some of you over to the station in my car?"
"The 'bus is dryer, I think, thank you." She led the way, and the
other women followed her upstairs. "We'll be down in time," she
called.
"I'll take some of you men over in Hardy's machine," volunteered
Dauntless. "I've got it out here this week, while he's east."
"Ain't you going in, Joe?" demanded Rolfe.
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