most before she knew it, she was
seated in the A.i. Damyer. It trembled, emitted two small sounds, one
large scent, and glided forward. Mr. Purcey said:

"That's rippin' of you!"

A postman, dog, and baker's cart, all hurrying at top speed, seemed to
stand still; Cecilia felt the wind beating her cheeks. She gave a little
laugh.

"You must just take me home, please."

Mr. Purcey touched the chauffeur's elbow.

"Round the park," he said. "Let her have it."

The A.i. Damyer uttered a tiny shriek. Cecilia, leaning back in her
padded corner, glanced askance at Mr. Purcey leaning back in his; an
unholy, astonished little smile played on her lips.

'What am I doing?' it seemed to say. 'The way he got me here--really!
And now I am here I'm just going to enjoy it!'

There were no Hughs, no little model--all that sordid life had vanished;
there was nothing but the wind beating her cheeks and the A.i. Damyer
leaping under her.

Mr. Purcey said: "It just makes all the difference to me; keeps my nerves
in order."

"Oh," Cecilia murmured, "have you got nerves."

Mr. Purcey smiled. When he smiled his cheeks formed two hard red blocks,
his trim moustache stood out, and many little wrinkles ran from his light
eyes.

"Chock full of them," he said; "least thing upsets me. Can't bear to see
a hungry-lookin' child, or anything."

A strange feeling of admiration for this man had come upon Cecilia. Why
could not she, and Thyme, and Hilary, and Stephen, and all the people
they knew and mixed with, be like him, so sound and healthy, so unravaged
by disturbing sympathies, so innocent of "social conscience," so content?

As though jealous of these thoughts about her master, the A.i. Damyer
stopped of her own accord.

"Hallo," said Mr. Purcey, "hallo, I say! Don't you get out; she'll be
all right directly."

"Oh," said Cecilia, "thanks; but I must go in here, anyhow; I think I'll
say good-bye. Thank you so much. I have enjoyed it."

From the threshold of a shop she looked back. Mr. Purcey, on foot, was
leaning forward from the waist, staring at his A.i. Damyer with profound
concentration.

CHAPTER IX

HILARY GIVES CHASE

The ethics of a man like Hilary were not those of the million pure bred
Purceys of this life, founded on a sense of property in this world and
the next; nor were they precisely the morals and religion of the
aristocracy, who, though aestheticised in parts, quietly used, in bulk,
their