Miss Campion was breathing heavily but her face was calm.
"She nearly got it," she said. "But not quite."
"Got what?" asked Desire, still wondering.
"An introduction. Where is Benis? My dear, DON'T LOOK! She is the
most determined person."
Miss Campion herself was staring straight ahead. Desire, much
amused, endeavored to do the same.
"Surely it is a trifle!" she murmured.
But Miss Campion was preoccupied. "Where can Benis be? John, do you
know what is keeping Benis? Oh, here he is," with an exclamation of
relief. "Now we can start. Did I hear you say 'trifle,' my dear?
There are no trifles in Bainbridge. John, I think we might drive
home by the Park."
They drove home by the Park. It was not a long drive, just a dozen
or so of quiet streets, sentineled by maples; a factory in a hollow;
a church upon a hill; a glimpse of two long rows of prosperous
looking business blocks facing each other across an asphalted
pavement; a white brick school where children shouted; then quiet
streets again, the leisurely rising of a boulevarded slope and--
home.
They turned in at a white gate in the centre of a long fence backed
by trees. The Spences had built their homestead in days when land
was plentiful and, being a liberal-minded race, they had taken of it
what they would. Of all the houses in Bainbridge theirs alone was
prodigal of space. It stood aloof in its own grounds, its face
turned negligently from the street, outside.
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