"And put up a bill-board," said Benis.
Desire felt a trifle lonely. These people, so close to her and yet
so far away, were going home.
"Oh, how I wish you weren't stopping off," said the rancher's wife,
an actual tear on her flushed cheek. "You've been so kind, Mrs.
Spence. And anyone more understanding with children I never saw.
When you've got a boy like my Sandy for your own--"
"By jove!" exclaimed Benis. "They're starting to cut down Miller's
hill at last."
Aunt Caroline rose flutteringly. "There is the water-tank," she
announced in an agitated voice. "Desire, where is your parasol? My
dear, don't kiss that child again, it's sticky. WHERE is my hand-
bag? John, do you see your car?"
"I don't SEE it," admitted John, "but--"
"Bainbridge!" shouted the brakeman.
CHAPTER XIX
Desire was conscious of a brown and gabled station with a bow-window
and flower-beds, a long platform where baggage trucks lumbered, the
calling of taxi-men, a confused noise of greeting and farewell, and
Aunt Caroline's voice uncomfortably near her ear.
"There she is!" whispered Aunt Caroline hoarsely. "Be careful! Don't
look!"
"Who? Where?" asked Desire, wondering.
"Eliza Merryweather. Second to the left."
There was another confused impression of curious faces, of one face
especially with eager eyes and bobbing grey curls, and then she was
caught, as it were, in the swirl of Aunt Caroline and deposited,
somewhat breathless, in a car which, providentially, seemed to
expect her.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173