u go for to do such a thing again,' said Mrs Clay,
smiling with indulgence at the girl; 'but it's not you I'm blamin', but
Tom Fox, who ought to know better than endanger two lives, let alone
takin' notice o' a child like you, if you'll excuse my speakin' so
freely.'

'You are very good not to scold me; but I do so enjoy going at a
tremendous speed, and the motor does run so smoothly, much better than
ours, and mother is too nervous to go fast,' explained Horatia.

'I should think not, an' I don't blame 'er. For my part, I 'old on every
time I go in it if my 'usband isn't lookin', an' I'd rather by 'alf walk
or take the pony-chaise than go in it; but I'll stop Fox playin' such
tricks. W'atever would your ma 'ave said if she'd seen you, I can't
think.'

They had gone upstairs by this time, and were walking along the corridor
at the back of the house, which looked out on the back-yard, which was
coach-yard and garage, and Mrs Clay had scarcely finished the above
speech when they heard the angry voice of Mr Mark Clay in the yard below.

'How dare you drive my car at that speed, with my daughter and the Duke
of Arnedale's granddaughter in the car? Don't excuse yourself, but take
yourself off this moment, and never show your face in Ousebank again, or
I'll have you locked up, do you hear?' stormed Mr Clay at the chauffeur.
But his speech was interspersed with stronger language than that.

Horatia dropped Mrs Clay's arm, and ran a little in front of her and
Sarah, and both of them thought she was running to take refuge in her
room from language to which she was not accustomed; but, on the contrary,
she ran to the open window, and, leaning out of it, cried, 'Mr Clay,
stop, please, and listen to me a moment.--Don't go, Tom Fox.'

At sight of Horatia, Mr Clay's face changed a little, and perhaps he felt
a little shame at the language he knew she must have heard; but he was
too angry to heed her. 'Excuse me, but this is my business, and my orders
must be obeyed.--Get out of this, do you hear, Tom Fox?'

The man, white as a sheet, touched his hat, with a faint smile, to
Horatia, and walked off.

'Tom Fox, stop!' said Horatia. 'Wait one moment. If you are really going
I will go too, and you can come to the station with me.'

'Horatia!' cried Sarah; and, 'My dear!' echoed Mrs Clay.

Mr Clay looked up at the flushed, determined little face at the window.
He was a dogged, self-willed man, and gave way to no one; but he knew