The chauffeur opened the door of the car as if he had been born to open
motor-car doors, and Lady Turnour allowed herself to be helped out by
her husband. Her jewel-bag clutched in her hand (she doesn't know me
well enough yet to trust me with it, and hasn't had bagsful of jewels
for long), she passed her two servants without expending a look on them.
Sir Samuel followed, telling his chauffeur to have the automobile ready
at the door again in an hour and a quarter; and we two Worms were left
to our own resources.
"I shan't garage her," said my fellow Worm of the car. "I'll just drive
her out of the way, where I can look over her a bit when I've snatched
something to eat. I'll take the fur rugs inside--you're not to bother,
they're big enough to swamp you entirely. And then you--"
"Yes, then I--" I repeated desolately. "What is to become of me?"
"Why, you're to have your lunch, of course," he replied. "I thought you
said you were hungry."
"So I am, starving. But--"
"Well?"
"Aren't you going to have a proper lunch?"
"A sandwich and a piece of cheese will do for me, because there are one
or two little things to tinker up on the car, and an hour and a quarter
isn't long.
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