The Great Miss Driver

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Hope Anthony. The Great Miss Driver

CHAPTER I. WHAT IS SHE LIKE?

CHAPTER II. MAKING AMENDS

CHAPTER III. ON THE USE OF SCRAPES

CHAPTER IV. AN UNPOPULAR MAN

CHAPTER V. RAPIER AND CLUB

CHAPTER VI. TAKING TO OPEN SEA

CHAPTER VII. THE FLICK OF A WHIP

CHAPTER VIII. A SECRET TREATY

CHAPTER IX. THE INSTITUTE CLERK

CHAPTER X. A FRIENDLY GLASS

CHAPTER XI. THE SIGNAL AT "DANGER"

CHAPTER XII. SAVING A WEEK

CHAPTER XIII. THE BOY WITH THE RED CAP

CHAPTER XIV. THE EIGHT-FIFTEEN TRAIN

CHAPTER XV. IN THE DOCK

CHAPTER XVI. NOT PROVEN

CHAPTER XVII. ONE OF TWO LEGACIES

CHAPTER XVIII. THE NEW CAMPAIGN

CHAPTER XIX. A CASE OF CONSCIENCE

CHAPTER XX. LIVING PIECES

CHAPTER XXI. NATHAN AND DAVID

CHAPTER XXII. THE ALTERNATIVE

CHAPTER XXIII. ON ALL GROUNDS – RIDICULOUS!

CHAPTER XXIV. A CHANCE FOR THE ROMANTIC

CHAPTER XXV. A FRESH COAT OF PAINT

CHAPTER XXVI. PEDIGREE AND BIOGRAPHY

CHAPTER XXVII. A MAN OF BUSINESS

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Cartmell's talk, as we drove back, was calculated to give her an almost overwhelming idea of her possessions and (if her temperament set that way) of her responsibilities. Big commercial buildings, blocks of shops, whole streets of small houses, drew from the lawyer a point of the finger and a brief, "That's yours" – or sometimes he would tell how her father had bought, how built, and how profited by the venture. Every time she would turn her head to look where his finger pointed, and nod slightly, gravely, composedly. She seemed to be reserving her opinion of it all. The only time she spoke was when we were emerging from the town and he showed her Hatcham Ford, saying, as usual, "That's yours," but adding that it was let furnished to Mr. Leonard Octon, who was abroad just now. Then her nod of understanding was accompanied by a low murmur, "It's very pretty."

She said nothing when we drove into the park of Breysgate Priory itself: yet I saw her eyes fixed intently on the great house on the hill, which comes into view directly the drive is entered, and certainly looks imposing enough. After the first formal greeting she did not speak to me, nor I to her, until her reception at the house was over and we had sat down to luncheon. But she had smiled at me once – when we were still standing by the door, on the terrace at the top of the steps, and Cartmell was showing her what he called "the lie of the land." The omnibus with its pair of big horses and its pair of big men came trotting up the hill, and on its big roof lay one small battered trunk. Loft was waiting to give orders to his footmen for the disposal of her luggage: when he saw the solitary and diminutive article, he advanced and, with pronounced graciousness, received it from the omnibus himself. She watched, and then gave me the smile that I have mentioned; evidently Loft – or Loft in conjunction with that humble box – appealed to her sense of humor.

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Cartmell gone, we went together up the broad staircase which sprang from the center of the hall. As we passed a chair, she took off her hat and flung it down. The rich masses old brown hair, coiled about her head, caught the sun of a bright spring afternoon; she ran swiftly and lightly up the stairs. "Nice, soft, thick, carpet!" she remarked. I began to perceive that she would enjoy the incidental luxuries of her new position – and that she did enjoy the one great luxury – life. I fancied that she enjoyed it enormously.

We trod another "nice, soft, thick, carpet" for the length of a long passage and came to his door. I opened it, let her pass in, and was about to close it after her. But as we reached his room, a sudden shadow of trouble or of fear had fallen upon her – grief it could hardly be.

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