"Letters—what letters? What makes you look so frightfully upset?"
She pursued her thought as if he had not spoken. "She and Algie Bockheimer arrived there the very day that Nick and I left?"
"I suppose so. I thought she'd told you. Ellie always tells everybody everything."
"She would have told me, I daresay—but I wouldn't let her."
"Well, my dear, that was hardly my fault, was it? Though I really don't see—"
But Susy, still blind to everything but the dance of dizzy sparks before her eyes, pressed on as if she had not heard him. "It was their motor, then, that took us to Milan! It was Algie Bockheimer's motor!" She did not know why, but this seemed to her the most humiliating incident in the whole hateful business. She remembered Nick's reluctance to use the motor—she remembered his look when she had boasted of her "managing." The nausea mounted to her throat.
Strefford burst out laughing. "I say—you borrowed their motor? And you didn't know whose it was?"
"How could I know? I persuaded the chauffeur . . . for a little tip. . . . It was to save our railway fares to Milan . . . extra luggage costs so frightfully in Italy. . . ."
"Good old Susy! Well done! I can see you doing it—"
