“But it’s a beauty, Win! It looks even better in the body than it does in the pictures!”
“Looks better in the chassis, too!” laughed Win. “We made no mistake in our selection. Captured a chauffeur, too. Come and speak to him. Say, Mary, he’s a wonder; English, seems an out-and-out gentleman; I don’t understand him,” Win whispered, as Mary went with him to the gate to greet this acquisition.
“Willoughby, this is the eldest of the three young ladies, Miss Garden. Mary, this is Willoughby, Wilfrid Willoughby, who drives splendidly and is going to look after us this summer,” Win introduced the new chauffeur.
Willoughby bowed; then, as if he remembered, touched his cap with his forefinger in the groom’s salute. “Hope I may be allowed to look after you, Miss Garden,” he said, in the unmistakable accent of an English university man. He wore a close black beard and his eyebrows were inky black; Mary thought it gave him a queer effect. His eyes were the bluest blue.
“Probably has Irish blood,” thought Mary, sorting out her impressions of him.
“Take the car around—no; what am I thinking of? Of course Mrs. Garden must see it. She’s not down yet, Mary?” asked Win.
