She hurried away. Sarah drew a sigh of relief.

"Somehow or other," she confessed, "I always feel a sense of tranquility
when my aunt has just departed."

Josephine rose to her feet.

"I think I shall go," she decided, "while the stock of taxicabs remains
unexhausted."

"If you will allow me," Wingate said, "I will find you one."

Their farewells were a little casual. They were all, in a way, intimates.
Only Kendrick touched Wingate on the shoulder.

"Shall I see you in the City to-morrow?" he asked.

"About eleven o'clock," Wingate suggested, "if that is not too early.
There are a few things I want to talk to you about."

"Where shall I send my card?" Sarah called out after him.

"The Milan Hotel," he replied, "with terms, please."

She made a little grimace.

"Terms!" she repeated scornfully. "An American generally pays what he
is asked."

"On the contrary," Wingate retorted, "he pays for what he gets."