we've never seen him. He had very good taste in chocs. and books. I daresay he's quite a decent sort. I wonder if he'll let us travel by ourselves? Abroad, I mean?"
"Italy," said Lucilla.
"Egypt," said Jane,
"Greece."
"Mexico."
"Spain."
"Samoa."
"But about this key!" Lucilla began again, but Jane stopped her with a squeak of triumph.
"I know! This car is for us, and this is the key of the garage. How unspeakably splendid! Our guardian is one in a million! I wonder how much money Aunt Lucilla did leave us? It must be an awful lot if it runs to a car like this."
And all the time the car was worming its swift, gliding way through strange crowded streets, between unfamiliar rows of gloomy houses and brilliant shops. It crossed the Thames, and the roads became sordid. It left the sordidness behind and passed among villas whose gardens grew larger as they slipped past. Then came trees—fields—more villas.
"It's almost real country," said Lucilla. "I hope Hope Cottage is bowered in roses and jasmine. It must be a big cottage to have a garage."
"I should like it thatched," said Jane, "but I suppose that's too much to expect."
More big gardens—a road that was almost a lane, with fields on one side and cabbage-fields on the other—some half-built houses—some trees—another cabbage-field—and then suddenly the motor stopped, purring, before a little yellow brick house as square as the rabbit-hutch itself and almost as small.
The chauffeur got down and opened the door. He had quite a nice face, Lucilla thought.
"This is Hope Cottage," he said. And, indeed, a black inscription on its white gate said so in plain capitals.
