xpecting a letter from her any day
now, and there may be definite news.

Good-bye, again, dearest.

VIII

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_Royal Hotel, Chichester_,
_July 17th_

Brightest and Best: _La Donna e automobile._ _I_ am "la donna";
and the most inward Me-ness of my Me _e automobile_.

Some people--Mrs. Norton, for instance--might say: "What on earth does
the silly thing mean?" But you always know what I mean. You and I were
born knowing quite a lot of nice little things like that, weren't we?
Things we picked up during our various incarnations; things _new_ souls
haven't had time to collect, poor dears.

My automobiliness is the reason I've only sent you snippy "how-do-you-do
and good-bye" notes, interspersed with telegrams, for the last few days,
just thanking you for wise advice, and saying "Glad-you're-well;
so-am-I."

You will guess from my very handwriting that I'm feeling more at home in
life than I did when I wrote you last. And I can't help being pleased
that Ellaline's adored one won't be able to leave his manoeuvres, to
make her his own, till a fortnight or so later than she expected. That
is, I can't help being glad, as the doctor thinks you ought to stop at
Champel-les-Bains till after the first week of September, and we
_couldn't_ be together, even if I were back in Paris. You swear you
didn't hypnotize him to say that? I would enjoy more peace of mind,
while careering through England in Apollo, if I were certain.

Oh, that reminds me, I forgot to tell you what fun it was christening
Apollo. I quite enjoyed it, and felt immensely important. Don't you
think "Apollo" an appropriate name for such a magnificent car as I've
described to you? The Sun God--Driver of the Chariot of the Sun? Sir
Lionel likes it; but he says he isn't sure "The Cloud" wouldn't be a
more appropriate name, because the car costs such a lot that "she" has a
silver lining. I began by calling her "it," but he won't let me do that.
He doesn't much mind my being amateurish, but he hates me to be
disrespectful.

I am so dazzled by the motor and enchanted with the sport of
motoring--as well as seeing things even more lovely than I hoped
for--that I'm not worrying over Dick Burden and his mysterious hints
about himself as a detective. Besides, when he and his aunt came to tea
(you'll remember I told you in a scrap of a note that it was the day Sir
Lionel went to Warwickshire, and how vexed Mrs. Senter was to find hi